


The Light and the Dark

by rosegoldroman



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, but i think its gonna be pretty good, theres mentions of torture and suicide so if youre not into that definitely dont read, this is gonna get sort of dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldroman/pseuds/rosegoldroman
Summary: For seven years, Virgil has known nothing but the Doctor and his lab and his horrible tests. For seven years, Virgil has known nothing but the shadows, ever-creeping, and the darkness, all-consuming. But then one day a man carrying fire in his hands and in the brave tilt of his smile breaks down his door and offers him freedom, and everything changes forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is just the prologue to a thing ive been working on for forever,,,, it's pretty short but i think it's alright so i hope you enjoy!

Virgil woke with a start at the three loud knocks at his door, his heart kicking into overdrive at the dreaded sound. He recognized it immediately; three loud knocks, one right after the other, could only mean one thing.

It was a test day.

He knew what was coming — he’d been through it a million times. But still, his lip quivered and his hands shook as he shot out of bed, quickly fixing his mussed sheets. He stood at attention, his toes curling on the freezing cold tile floor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his head held high.

He hoped they wouldn’t notice his trembling. He’d get punished for that.

He shared one fearful look with his roommate before the door slid open, exactly thirty seconds after they had knocked. Two guards stepped inside, their faces unreadably blank. They didn’t speak a word — but then again, they never did, especially not to him.

They didn’t need to. He knew the drill.

There were more guards out in the hallway. Their eyes were empty, their faces hard as they watched him walk down the hallway. He tried to ignore their gazes burning up his skin, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his palms stung where his nails dug into them. He shared one last look with his roommate as one guard led him down another hallway;  _don’t be afraid,_  his roommate’s kind brown eyes said silently.

Virgil wished he could remember how to not be afraid.

The guards leading him were fast; each one of their strides took three for Virgil. His legs, bruised and battered and sore, protested the effort it took to keep up, but he knew he couldn’t fall behind. He still bore the scars from the last time he’d taken his time on the walk there.

They passed unmarked door after unmarked door, each protected by an impassive guard, their weapons shining in the bright artificial light. One guard had their hand rested on the hilt of their weapon, and their eyes followed Virgil as he stumbled down the hallway, as though wondering whether or not to shoot.

_Just do it_ , Virgil thought, as his nails brought blood from beneath his skin. But they wouldn’t; he was too  _useful_  to die.

The guards turned a corner into another hallway, as stark-white as the last, their heavy boots slamming into the floor in maddening unison. Virgil tried to get lost in the jarring sound, trying to ignore what was coming. Thoughts swirled in his mind, remnants of a boy who once would have fought, screaming at him to  _run, fight, don’t let them take you —_  but what was the point? He’d been there for  _years_. There was no such thing as ‘escape.’

The guards stopped, and Virgil looked up, his stomach rolling at the sight before him. The door was tall, taller than any other door in the hallway, and it gleamed brighter than the rest. It looked so  _clean_ , so orderly; one would never expect the horrors that laid in wait on the other side. Virgil felt sick.

The room behind it as just as clean as the hallways before it. Stark white, it shined in the bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and it would appear for all the word to be a simple — if monochromatic — office, if it weren’t for the tray housing each and every tool used to examine (torture) the unfortunate residents of Obscura Virtute.

The Doctor would come soon, ever-present smile on his face, ever-present malice in his heart. “This won’t hurt,” he’d say. He’d  _lie._

Virgil didn’t want to get on the table. He didn’t want the guards to strap him in with too-tight restraints, and he didn’t want the ring of bruises around his wrists and ankles. He didn’t want whatever the Doctor was going to do this time, all in the name of “healing” him.

But he had no choice, did he?

He climbed onto the table, his sore bones aching with every movement, and stayed still as a statue as the guards shoved his hands and legs into place and locked the thick metal cuffs over his wrists and ankles. The action was downright horrifying in its normalcy; somehow, he’d gotten used to being tortured, sometime in the years he’d been there.

The guards left. The Doctor came.

He was a tall man, boyishly handsome even in his older age. His sandy blond hair twinkled with streaks of silvery gray, pulled back into a short ponytail, and his eyes, a soft, nearly artificial-looking shade of blue, sparkled wisely from behind his square glasses, crinkled at the edges from years of smiling. He looked kind and gentle, like a wise grandfather. He was anything but.

Virgil  _hated_  him.

The Doctor stepped further into the room, readjusting his gloves carefully. “Are you ready?” he asked, and his voice held none of the kindness that his appearance portrayed, only the bitter cold of the blinding room around him. He examined his tools, plucking a silvery one from the tray with ease.

_No_ , Virgil wanted to say, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t find his voice lost among the maze of horror and disgust within him.  _No,_  Virgil wanted to scream, but he couldn’t breathe through the fire in his lungs, and the acid in his throat.

The Doctor stepped forward, and Virgil braced himself, his teeth grinding against each other, his hands involuntarily balling into tight fists, straining against the tight restraints around his wrists.

“You deserve this,” the Doctor said softly, by way of reassurance, leaning over him.

And the worst part? He was completely right.


	2. The Power of Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heres some Angsty Backstory™   
> Hope you all enjoy! Part two will either be later tonight or tomorrow (I've got a cold so I don't know how easily I'll be able to edit chapter three tonight...)

Virgil was nine when the shadows first came for him.

He remembered the moment as clearly as if it had been yesterday, even though many years had passed since that day. He remembered the strange, musty smell of the attic as he sat in the corner, hidden behind a tall pile of boxes and illuminated by the dusk-light spilling in through the high window. The moment had seemed almost ethereal, then; dust floating like fairy-dust between the dying sunbeams, scattering with every shaky breath he let out, and the silence that made him feel as though time had left him, if only for a little while.

It wasn’t the first time he’d hidden up in the attic, from his parents or from bullies or even from his own thoughts. It was a quiet place, where no one could find him, where he could find himself. He loved it.

This story begins with a little boy, barely even nine, his hair in his face and his cheeks shining with tears. It begins with a child, his chest full to bursting with wracking sobs, sobbing into his shirt sleeves, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. It begins with a wish, to escape the world and its cruel pain, and shadows, deep and dark and curling like smoke.

He hadn’t noticed it then, too involved in cursing Timmy Williams and his band of bullies to the wind between each shaking sob — but there was a strange tugging in his stomach, and a sharp tingling in his fingers, almost as though they’d fallen asleep. Right then, Virgil Sanders wished for a friend; for someone’s shoulder to cry into and someone’s arms to hide in.

And the shadows had provided.

* * *

 

You can imagine his surprise when he’d felt something almost hand-like curling around his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles across his back. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, opening his eyes to find  _something_  draped across his shoulders, a blanket of swirling black smoke.

His scream shook dust from the rafters as he shot backward, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. The shadows melted back to the floor. The tingling in his fingers faded away. And he ran, fear chasing his every step, swiping tears from his cheeks as he bounded down the ladder.

He promised to never return to the ‘haunted’ attic, but he was back within a week, armed with a rolled-up stack of comics, a child’s stubborn curiosity, and his mother’s reassurances, held tightly in his mind. “Ghosts don’t exist, Virgil,” she had said in a voice that left no room for arguments, and Virgil could only hope she was right.

The attic was dark save for the tiny bit of sunset-light filtering in through the window. Shadows surrounded him on all sides. Virgil tried to ignore the way his throat closed up with fear, his fingers curling tightly around his comic books. “Ghosts don’t exist,” he said, but his voice trembled and shook and betrayed every ounce of fear he was feeling.

His corner was dusty from disuse, bathed in darkness. It had never looked less inviting. Still, Virgil slid into his usual spot, flicked on the lamp beside him, and drew his knees up to his chest, unable to turn back now. He  _needed_  to know if what he’d seen was real.

Gently, he set the comic books down on the floor beside him, sending clouds of dust scattering through the air. He rubbed his nose to keep from sneezing, glancing around the dark attic with wide, curious eyes.

Nothing.

It was a strange thing, to feel both relieved and disappointed at the same time. Virgil bit his lip, leaning against the rough wooden wall with a soft sigh.  _Had_  he imagined it? It didn’t seem possible. It had felt so  _real_.

“Hello?” His voice sounded impossibly loud against the dusty silence of the attic, and he cringed. Shame curled tightly in the pit of his stomach. Was he really trying to  _talk_  to his hallucinations? That’s all they were, after all: just the sick hallucinations of a sad, lonely child.

He curled deeper into himself, feeling his face grow warm. He watched a tiny spider scuttle past his comic books, his vision blurring with warm tears.

And then this time, he noticed it: the strong tugging in the pit of his stomach, housed somewhere between shame and sadness. It was akin to the feeling of falling, and Virgil did  _not_  like it. He sat up straighter, wiping unwanted tears from his red cheeks and grimacing.

His fingers began to tingle, a tiny, subtle tickling. He flexed them, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. Maybe the dust up there was finally getting to him? Mom was always warning him about allergies, maybe —

He gasped, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt. Complete silence fell over the attic, and time seemed to freeze, as Virgil stared at the  _thing_. It had risen from the darkness cast by old furniture; a big, shapeless thing, shifting in midair like smoke.

Virgil stared. He felt a scream growing in his chest, fighting to escape, and the urge to run away and never look back. There were loud alarm bells going off in his head. He shoved it all away. He couldn’t run away!

Cautiously, he leaned forward, and the shadow mirrored his movements, forming an almost-human-like shape, if humans had blobs for heads and long tendrils for arms. Discomfort lodged in the pit of Virgil’s stomach.

“What are you?” Virgil asked, his voice coming out a dazed whisper. He balled his hand into a tight fist, digging his fingernails sharply into his palm, and the pain startled him into clarity. He breathed a sigh of what felt like relief but could have easily been fear. He wasn’t dreaming.

The thing didn’t answer. It just… sat there. Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed. Why wasn’t it moving like last time?

Not a moment passed since the thought crossed Virgil’s mind before the thing began moving, shifting towards him. He let out a squeak of surprise, shrinking back against the wall and holding out his hands like a shield.

“Stop!”

It did. It stood stock-still, staring at him facelessly as though waiting for the next command. Virgil blinked, confused. Why was it following his orders?

“Um…” He thought for a moment. “…do a… dance…” he commanded hesitantly.

The shadow began to wiggle, moving like smoke in the wind. Virgil stared, open-mouthed. He’d forgotten how to breathe, sometime in the last few minutes. Was he…  _controlling_  it?

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of his comic books, laid out across the floor. He shifted his page from the strange creature to the pages for a moment, his eyes scanning across colorful pictures of valiant superheroes and their brilliant superpowers.

What if…?

He shook his head, looking back at the creature through a curtain of brown bangs. He glanced down at his own hands, his little fingers curling nervously, and a knot of anxiety grew in his stomach, tying his insides together. The room seemed to sway around him.

He raised one arm, stretching it out towards the ceiling, silently willing the creature to move upwards. There wasn’t even a moment's hesitation; it rose through the air, higher and higher, only stopping when it bumped against the ceiling, shaking dust loose from the rafters. Panic grew in his chest, clogging his throat.

He couldn’t be a superhero! He didn’t wanna save the world, or fight bad guys — he couldn’t handle that much responsibility! He  _wasn’t_  a hero, he was just Virgil, he was just a little kid, and he didn’t want this, oh  _god —_

He whimpered, shrinking into himself and wrapping his arms tightly around his shaking frame. The shadow returned to the floor and stayed there, staring at him facelessly. The tugging sensation in Virgil’s stomach had become almost unbearable.

“What are you?” he asked again, his voice a scared whisper, his eyes rimmed with red. “What… what am  _I?”_

There was no response.

A blossom of anger bloomed within Virgil, red-hot, and he clenched his hands into fists. He didn’t  _want_  this! He was already different enough, he was already made fun of enough! He didn’t  _want_  to be special!

_“Go away,”_  he breathed, his voice breaking, and the creature disappeared into thin air, taking the terrible tugging feeling with it. Virgil flexed his fingers as the tingling faded away, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Could that have been the end of it? He hoped so. He wanted nothing more than to pretend this had never happened, to ignore this brief moment of strangeness and go back to his okay life. The anxious knot in his guts began to untie, and he leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

If only it could have been that easy.

The thing is, there are  _lots_  of shadows in this world, and when you’re a little boy who has just realized they can hear you, that becomes a terrifying thing. They were  _everywhere_  — at school, swirling behind him, just corporeal enough to make him sick from the horrible tugging, and at home, appearing just in the corners of his eyes, just enough to make him terrified that his parents would see. They followed every order he gave, every which he could possibly make, except for one.

They wouldn’t leave him alone.


	3. The Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two of the Angsty Backstory™  
> Sorry about the wait for this chapter! It's been hectic here, with the holidays, and I haven't really had time to write lately. The next chapter should be out on Monday, January 8th, if all goes according to plan.  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Virgil was ten when the Doctor came for him.

The year had granted him neither skill nor knowledge of his strange powers — only fear, building deep within him, a shadow of anxiety within to match the shadows outside. His powers consumed him, the shadows ever creeping.

But he had to keep up the act. He had to pretend he was normal. He __couldn__ _ _’t__  let anyone see he was struggling — and he definitely couldn’t let them know about the shadows. What would happen to him if they knew? He’d already had too many nightmares about autopsies to count.

So, he kept up the act. He was a __good__  little boy who did his chores and got good grades and never did anything wrong. He was a __normal__  child, as far as they all knew… but sometimes, the shadows became hard to hide.

Sometimes, he didn’t __want__  to hide.

The Doctor came on a dull gray Tuesday, the kind of unremarkable day that lulls you into a false sense of security, because nothing __truly__  interesting could happen on a boring day like this. It had been nearly an hour since school had let out, but Virgil remained, curled up on a soft beanbag in the library with a notebook in his lap and a bag of chips in the crook of his arm.

He scribbled thoughtfully in the blue notebook, covering the thick pages in scrawling poetry. It was the one calming constant in his life, and he was immensely grateful for it; poetry gave him the room to vent about his problem, but also the room to forget about it. It gave him air when the shadows stopped him from breathing.

The library was silent save for his pen scratching on the paper. He took deep breaths of dusty, paper-scented air, munching quietly on chips and allowing the words to flow from his pen. Each word he wrote took a little of that horrible weight from his shoulders.

“Hello!”

__Oh god.__  Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin, his blood running cold. __He knew that voice.__  Hurriedly, he got to his feet and ran for the door, shaking a snowstorm of crumbs from his shirt as he went.

But it was already too late. A strong hand closed around the neck of his shirt, yanking Virgil backwards with a painful yelp. “That’s rude,” Timmy Williams remarked, his ugly face a mask of false-hurt. “I was just trying to say hello.”

Around him, his friends shook their heads in mock disapproval. Timmy Williams grabbed Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him around to face them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Virgil said quickly. “I didn’t hear you.”

Timmy narrowed his green eyes, frowning. “ _ _Sure__ you didn’t _ _,__ ” he said, his voice a sickly-sweet soup of sarcasm. Virgil took a step back, his hands curling tighter around his notebook.

“I-I didn’t, I swear!” Silently, he cursed himself for the fear in his voice. His eyes darted around the deserted library, searching for an exit, but Timmy’s friends had surrounded them, a circle of bullies. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe through the panic in his lungs. His nails began to dig into the soft cover of his notebook.

“What’s that?” Timmy asked, lunging and yanking the book from Virgil’s hands. A cry escaped from Virgil’s mouth before he could stop himself, and Timmy grinned terribly. “What, is it important?”

No. __No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.__  He couldn’t lose his poems! “G-Give it back,” Virgil said, his stomach turning. His hands balled into fists by his sides.

“I will when I’m done with it,” Timmy said offhandedly, pushing his long brown hair out of his eyes and opening the book. His eyes widening, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips. “What is this, __poetry?”__

Around him, his friends burst into laughter. Virgil felt sick.

“Hey — hey, Justin, gimme your drink,” Timmy said, his voice alight with a dawning idea. He took the sparkling bottle of orange soda, stashed the notebook under one arm, and cracked off the cap. “I changed by mind, __Virgin,”__  he said, and horror bloomed in Virgil’s stomach, cold and cruel and sickening.

He held out the book — Virgil’s book, his home, his only solace — and dumped the soda all over it.

The book fell to the floor with a soggy __thump__. Virgil dimly registered the sound of Timmy and his cronies laughing, but his eyes couldn’t leave the book. The red ink from his pen ran off the pages in crimson rivers, soaking into the library’s carpet. It looked like it was bleeding.

That was his book. __That was__ ** _ ** _his_**_** _ _book.__  That was the word of a hundred hours, a thousand moments captured between the covers — and they’d __ruined__  it all in the span of a few seconds. Virgil watched soda drip off the covers, his hands balled so tightly into fists he was sure he was drawing blood.

He felt a tugging in his stomach.

Timmy grinned at him, his eyebrows drawn together in mock concern. “Oh, what’s wrong? Is the sissy gonna cry?”

His fingers began to tingle.

Anger bloomed in his stomach, a red-hot fire of rage. His face darkened. Timmy Williams faltered, a hint of confusion flashing across his face, and Virgil felt a sick satisfaction nestle in his chest.

He wanted to make them __pay__.

The shadows around his feet began to swirl. This time, he let them, and fear joined the confusion on Timmy’s face, his eyes wide as he stared at the darkness. Virgil had to keep from smiling at the sight. He was __done__  hiding. He was __done__  being picked on.

”I’m not your punching bag anymore,” he said, and his voice was deeper and darker, layered with something terrible and demonic. __“No one is.”__

__Get them._ _

The shadows shot through the air. Timmy Williams screamed in terror, tripping over his own feet in a desperate attempt to escape, shoving his friends out of his way as he scrambled for the doors. But it was too late; the shadows, fast as lightning, swirled around him and slammed the doors shut with a jarring __bang__.

Timmy stepped backwards, his face pale with horror — and the shadows surrounded him, shrouding him in darkness as they wrapped around him and his horrible friends. Timmy whimpered pitifully, struggling against the shadowy bonds, his face slick and shiny with terrified tears.

Virgil took a step towards him. Shadows swirled at his feet, eager to get at him; but Virgil kept them back, curling his hand into a tight fist. He wanted to do this himself.

He stepped over the remains of his book and glared up at Timmy. “Wha — what __are__  y-you?” Timmy stammered as the shadow lowered him to the ground.

“I don’t know,” Virgil replied, and punched Timmy Williams in the face.

And then — then, as the adrenaline faded and Timmy Williams fell unconscious and slumped to the floor and the shadows disappeared around the other bullies — Virgil realized what he had done. His moment of power was fading fast, and terror, hot and horrible and suffocating, was taking its place.

“I’m telling!” One boy, the tallest of Timmy’s group, had managed to stay conscious and now stood on shaky legs, pointing at Virgil in fear. “You’re a __freak!”__

He ran from the room as fast as his long legs would carry him, and deafening silence fell over the library. Virgil’s hands flew to his mouth as he looked around at the unconscious bodies laying across the floor of the destroyed library, as his stomach threatened to twist and turn and send his lunch flying back up his throat.

He’d lost control. Oh god, he’d __lost control and now everyone would know how bad he was and how strange he was and they — they were going to__ kill _ _him! Oh no, no, no no no no —__

His thoughts spiraled out of control. He nearly doubled over, his lungs burning with red-hot panic, his legs wobbling and threatening to give way. Visions of autopsies danced in his head.

He took one shaking step back, and then another. His breathing became laboured, desperate, and he clutched his chest fearfully, taking one last look around the chaotic library before turning and fleeing.

Where would he go? He couldn’t go back home. He’d __never__  see his home again. Oh god, __oh god, what had he done?__  He probably couldn’t even stay in the town!

A sob escaped his throat and he stumbled, tears blurring his vision. __What had he done?__

He raced down the hall as quickly as his shaking legs would carry him, tears running down his face. The shadows swirled at his feet, the tugging sensation in his stomach nearly unbearable, but he made no attempt to make them leave. What was the point? Everyone would know how __terrible__  he was anyway, there was no point trying to hide them anymore!

Someone stepped out into the hall in front of him and Virgil __couldn’t stop —__

Smash!

He fell backwards, landing painfully on the hard floor, and scrambled back to his feet. A strong hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

__Don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me_ _ **_**_don’t touch me —_ ** _ **

He wrenched out of the grip, swiping tears off of his cheeks as he darted around the person, rushing down the hallway. He needed to get __out of there —__

Two more people stepped out in front of him, looking tall and imposing in their immaculate white suits. He slammed right into them and stumbled backwards, a cry escaping his lips.

__“No!”__  he yelled, his voice high with panic. This couldn’t be happening! Oh god, __oh god, he needed to get out of there!__

“Are you alright?” The person stepped up to him, his eyebrows wrinkled with concern. Virgil shook his head, frantically trying to find a way to escape. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m not going to harm you. Please calm down.”

Virgil had never felt less calm in his life. Panic seized him, coiling around him like a python coils around its prey. He shoved his way through the two men in suits and raced for the exits, terrified sobs wracking his body.

“I know about the shadows,” the man said, and Virgil sobbed even harder, racing desperately for the doors. But then, the man uttered the words that Virgil had been wanting to hear for nearly a year: “I can make them go away.”

Despite himself, Virgil stopped, skidding against the tile floor. He barely even dared to hope as he turned back towards the man. “Y-You… you can?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Of course.” The man stopped in front of him, leaning down to Virgil’s height. He set a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, quiet reassurance housed in the deep blue of his wide eyes. “I’m a doctor. I’m studying people like you. When I heard that you were here, well... I just had to come and help you. I can make them go away, Virgil. Trust me."

Virgil reached up to wipe tears off of his cheeks, feeling a tiny blossom of hope appear in the pit of panic in his stomach. Could he really trust this man? Some part of him wondered if maybe he should take a moment to consider, to think about this rationally — but he was a small child who’d been through a great deal of pain, and he didn’t __want__  to think rationally. He __wanted__  this: this small glimmer of hope, this promise of normalcy, so badly that it was like an ache.

So he nodded, slowly, his brows furrowing as he looked up at the man. The man let out a soft, happy sigh, something unreadable hidden in the artificial blue of his eyes. He offered Virgil a smile.

“That makes me very happy.”

 

 

 


	4. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this one! I barely had any time to write this week. Luckily, I got the chapter done in time, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Virgil stumbled as the guards roughly shoved him back into his room, loudly slamming the door behind him. He hit the ground with a loud _oof_ , his breath leaving him in a painful groan. His body felt dead, sore and bruised all over, and every inch of him throbbed with unbearable pain.

“You okay?”

Virgil groaned into the cold tile floor, his eyes squeezed shut to keep the lights from worsening his horrible headache. The voice cooed sympathetically, and a moment later a pair of gentle hands wrapped around him, pulling him up onto his bed with a pained grunt.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice so hoarse that it was barely there. His roommate sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Virgil sadly through thick-framed glasses. His name was Patton, and he was the one good thing left in Virgil’s life.

Patton was the oldest of the children at the Doctor’s facility. He’d been there the longest, had endured the most tests, and yet he’d never lost the spark of kindness that he carried in his soul. He was also Virgil’s only friend. He was short, with a kind, round face and warm brown eyes.

Patton was like Virgil, in a way; he’d grown up normal, unaware his life would change forever when he turned nine. That, however, was where their similarities diverged. Patton had discovered his ability to heal those who had been hurt, and had been heralded as a miracle in the small town he’d grown up in.

But still, he’d ended up in the Doctor’s clutches, just like Virgil. The Doctor had kidnapped him to study his powers, just as he had kidnapped the rest of the poor children at Obscura Virtute.

“I wish I could help you, Verge,” Patton whispered guiltily, rubbing at the thick silver cuffs around his wrists. They were the Doctr’s special invention; they prevented them from using their powers no matter how hard they’d tried. Not that Virgil had tried — he was happy to be rid of the shadows. But he could tell Patton was hurting without his ability to help others, and he’d do anything — even face the shadows again — if it meant he could take that hurt away.

Two sharp taps on the door alerted them to the food being shoved through the slot. Patton got to his feet, wincing, and pulled the bags of flavorless chips from the door. Virgil strained to push himself into a sitting position, ignoring how his bones screamed at the effort.

“It’s okay, Pat,” he said, leaning heavily against the bed’s wire headboard. He let his breath leave him in a big, long __woosh,__  trying to force himself to relax.

“No, it’s not,” Patton murmured, climbing onto Virgil’s bed and handing him a packet of chips. They sat side-by-side, their hands curled around each other as they munched silently. When they finished, Virgil slid until he was laying down, letting out an exhausted sigh, and Patton hummed an old, comforting tune as he got to his feet and started making his own bed.

“Night, Pat,” Virgil said, his voice a barely-there whisper.

Patton sighed. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

The room fell into silence, thick and deafening. Virgil closed his eyes, trying to ignore the glare of the harsh lights and the stirring of thoughts in his mind. He focused on his breathing — painful though it was to breathe — and started to relax. Finally, he was drifting off to sleep, where he could escape the pain of the day and get some rest —

Three loud knocks sounded sharply at the door.

Virgil jumped, biting his lip to keep from crying out in frustration, and shared a pained look with Patton as he climbed from his bed, his stomach curling with despair. What could the Doctor want with him now?

There was a moments pause, charged with tension, and then… boom! The door went flying off its hinges in a blast of brilliant scarlet flame, and Virgil just managed to jump out of the way before it slammed into the wall behind him and crashed down to the floor. He caught a glimpse of two guards slumping to the floor outside the room, their uniforms singeing black.

“Whoops! Sorry about that!” A new voice entered the room, one Virgil had never heard before. He clutched his chest in fear, his lungs filling with smoke. A silhouette of a person stepped into the room, cloaked with smoke, standing tall and proud. “I didn’t mean to cause __that__  much destruction.”

As the smoke cleared, a person was revealed, standing atop the wreckage of the door. He grinned down at both of them, his head held regally high, his green eyes twinkling pridefully out from a face covered in soot. He held out his arms proudly as though he expected applause as he stepped towards them.

Virgil couldn’t breathe. Fear had sliced through his lungs. He managed to gather his voice and call out, “Patton?”

“I-I-I’m fine, kiddo,” Patton stuttered back, and a drop of relief joined the fear.

“Don’t be frightened,” the man said, his voice growing quieter. “I am here to rescue you!”

Patton and Virgil shared a wide-eyed look, and Virgil’s blood ran cold. He took a terrified step back, remembering all too well what happened the last time someone offered him help. The man noticed the terror flashing through Virgil’s eyes and took a step back, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to harm you. My name is Roman. I’m with an organization that’s working __against__  that horrible Doctor!”

“Really?” Virgil managed to say, barely daring to hope. The man nodded.

“Yes, __really.”__ Roman rolled his eyes, glancing out into the hallway. “I don’t believe that man has ever been to medical school.”

“So we — we get to — we can __leave?”__  Patton looked close to tears. Virgil felt close to passing out. This couldn’t be true… right? Could freedom really be that close? __God,__  he hoped so — but __no__ , he __couldn’t__ , the last time he’d __hoped__  was what had started this whole mess.

“Yes! Here, come here.” Roman beckoned them forwards, snapping his fingers. A spark of flame appeared at the tip of his index finger, dancing merrily and casting warm light over his handsome face. Virgil watched it flicker with wide eyes, his heart thrumming fearfully in his chest.

Gently, Roman took Patton’s arms, holding the flame to the shining cuffs on his wrists. Virgil’s hands flew to his mouth as he started forward, a jolt of fear blasting through him, but barely a moment had passed before Roman snapped the mostly-melted cuffs off and dropped them to the floor.

Tears gathered in Patton’s eyes and slid down his face as he rubbed his wrist, flexing his fingers gingerly. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes wide, as if he barely believed it. Slowly, carefully, he reached out towards Virgil, setting a hand gently on his bruised arm.

His touch was warmth — the touch of summer sun on those last dying days before autumn, the scent of his mother’s chocolate-chip cookies, the tingling feeling in your stomach after laughing very hard — and relief swept through Virgil like a wave. Patton’s eyes slipped shut as he concentrated, and Virgil’s bruises began to fade away. Roman watched with his eyebrows raised, looking proud of himself.

__“Th-th__ - _ _thank you, Roman,”__  Patton whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. He wiped tears from his face, his smile brighter and happier than anything Virgil had ever seen.

“You’re quite welcome,” Roman said kindly. He reached out towards Virgil’s arm, the flame coming dangerously close to the cuffs, but Virgil pulled away with a sharp gasp, his eyes widening in fear.

“You — you __can’t__ ,” he choked out, holding his hand tightly to his chest. Roman’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why not? You’ll want to be able to defend yourself while we escape, trust me. These __monsters__  will stop at nothing to stop you from leaving.”

Virgil rubbed the cuff, his foot anxiously tapping against the floor. __No, no, no no no, he didn’t__ ** _ ** _want_**_** _ _the shadows to come back!__  His breathing grew fast and panicked, and he tightened his hold around the cuff. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I-I’m dangerous.”

Roman frowned. “Calm down, I won’t force you,” he said quickly, looking concerned. “Don’t worry, once we get back home, you can learn to control your powers, alright? Then you won’t have to be scared any longer.”

__Yeah, right.__ Virgil hadn’t known a moment without fear since he’d first discovered the horrible shadows. Still, he nodded, and Roman offered a warm smile.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. Patton nodded vigorously, grinning through his tears, and Virgil… he took one last look around his room, his __prison__ , and clenched his hands into tight fists, resolution in the hardness of his glare.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

 


	5. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took soooo looong  
> i'm sorry for the wait! i barely had any time to write this week, and even when I did, my inspiration was... lacking, at best. I still got it done though! Hope you enjoy!

_We_ _’re going to be free._

The thought was a weight in his stomach and wings on his back, freedom and fear and hope all at once. The world around him was a timebomb just waiting to explode this new bubble of hope, loud with the screaming of a thousand alarms and bathed in the blood-red of a thousand alarm lights. He’d never seen Obscura Virtute in such mad disarray before; it terrified him just to look at it.

__We’re going to be_ _ **_**_free._ ** _ **

The thought spurred him on, even as his legs trembled and shook and threatened to give out beneath him, just as his stomach lurched and threatened to lose what little food he’d had. It filled him with hope — foreign, well-needed hope, nestled deep in his stomach — and he held the warmth of that hope in his chest just as he held the warmth of Patton’s hand in his own as they stumbled quickly after Roman.

 ** _ ** _We’re going to be free_**_**.

Roman led them down the empty hallways quickly, muttering directions under his breath as he strode through Virgil’s world. His hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides, sparks of red-hot flame dancing across them, and his eyes darted around each corner vigilantly in search for more guards. But none came, no matter how much the alarms blared — Virgil had never seen the place quite so empty. It unnerved him, almost; if he’d had the time or the energy to do anything but run he would have surely begun panicking about it.

Roman turned a sharp corner and let out a soft sigh of relief, quickening his pace to catch up with another group of escapees farther down the hall. Three prisoners, their skin marred with deep purple bruises and their eyes showing every bit of raw fear that Virgil felt, led by a tall man with short, closely-cropped brown hair, his expression schooled and serious behind his thick glasses.

“Ah, Logan! There you are!” Roman greeted the other man enthusiastically, clapping him on the back as he easily fell into step beside him. “Took you long enough to find us, calculator watch,” he teased.

Logan spared only a quick, annoyed glance in response, readjusting his glasses as they turned another corner. “I’ve obtained directions from one of the guards. Wed o not have any time to waste. The guards’ rooms will only be locked for a few minutes, at most.”

Virgil envied the unflappable calm in the man’s voice, the confidence in his posture. “Follow me,” Logan said, with a quick glance at the escapees stumbling along behind him.

He took the lead again, his stride confident and calculated. Roman turned around, playfully walking backwards as he offered a bright, comforting smile to the ragtag group. Virgil couldn’t quite find it in himself to return it — his mind too marinated in the __what ifs__  and the __hows__  and the __oh my gods__  to do much of anything else.

And then, there they were: two doors, sunlight pouring in from their high transoms. Virgil’s heart soared as his stomach plummeted, and he let out a strangled sound somewhere between a relieved laugh and a terrified cry. This __couldn’t be happening —__ but it __was__  happening, it was __actually__  happening, he was __free, oh god —__

“Stop!”

There were at least ten of them, their weapon sparking with electricity and their faces contorted with rage, rushing in front of the group with a furious panic. Virgil’s stomach lurched painfully and he stumbled backwards.

 _ _Oh god,__  he thought, taking shaky steps back, a terrified ringing in his ears. __Oh no, no, I knw this was too good to be true, no, no, no no__ ** _ ** _no —_**_**

But Roman and Logan had barely even slowed their pace, as though they’d barely noticed the intimidating guards before them. “I’ll take half,” Roman offered, a cocky grin on his face as his hands burst into dazzling flames. Logan nodded solemnly.

Roman was fast, almost too fast to see; a blur of fire as he sent two guards flying backwards in a blast of searing hot flame. He slammed his fist into another guard’s face with a dramatic battle cry, and whipped around to send another flying with a swift, flaming kick in the next moment. In an instant, five guards were down, their stark-white uniforms blackened with char.

But Logan had stopped in his tracks, and barely moved a muscle as the other five guards raised their weapons, dangerous sparks of electricity bouncing off of the sharp ends. He raised an eyebrow, and then raised his hands. There was a flash of something in his eyes — anger, maybe, or disgust — and then the guard in front froze in place, mid-step, his face flickering with confusion. Logan’s gaze sharpened, his eyes becoming more focused, and the guard’s face went blank as he turned on his heel and slammed his weapon into the stomach of the guard beside him.

Logan spread his fingers, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and Virgil felt a shiver of fear go down his spine as time seemed to slow, the other guards struggling in vain against Logan’s control, their weapons twitching in their hands.

A moment later, they were all on the floor, shaking with convulsions. They’d taken themselves down; Logan had defeated them all, and he’d barely had to move a muscle.

“Nice one!” Roman grinned, shaking the flames from his fingertips. He held up his hand, and Logan blinked, shaking his head as he reluctantly returned the high-five.

“There is nothing ‘nice’ about this,” he replied quietly, looking distastefully down at the unconscious guards, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Holy __shit,”__  Virgil breathed, and Patton was too busy gaping to chide him for swearing. He felt sick to his stomach, like he was floating off in space; the floor had dropped from beneath him, sometime when Roman and Logan were kicking ass, and Patton’s hand, curled tightly in his, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. __Oh holy shit,__  he thought, his jaw clenched tightly to keep from losing his pitiful dinner. __Holy shit, this is actually happening, holy shit, I’m__ ** _ ** _free._**_**

Roman shoved open the doors, and sunlight poured into the hallway — sunlight, real sunlight, __oh god he hadn’t seen sunlight in years —__ and then the group was filing out of the lab and into the world and Virgil couldn’t breathe.

__He was free_ _ ****.** **

The world around him was a blurry mess of green and blue, of soft and vibrant, through the hot tears pooling in his eyes. The wind blew gently around him, smelling of summer and of freedom, and lazy clouds floated through the endless sapphire sky. And, in the center of it all, the __sun;__  bright and shining and __right there and real,__  and _ _god__ , he’d missed the feeling of the sun on his skin, the soft tingle of warmth that only summer could bring.

He let out a soft laugh that quickly morphed into a disbelieving sob, and sudden he was crying, tears sliding down his face. He swiped at his cheeks shamefully, trying desperately to breathe through the thick lump in his throat. He was free. __He was free.__

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. He never wanted this moment to end. He __never__  wanted to leave the sunlight ever again.

But Logan was standing at the front of the group, his arms crossed and his foot tapping impatiently at the ground. He glanced behind him, at the gates at the end of the field, and turned back to the group, clearing his throat. “We cannot afford to linger here,” he said seriously. “Come along.”

He turned and walked off. Virgil knew he was right, knew that they __had__  to leave this moment — but there was grass beneath his feet and sun on his skin and fresh air in his lungs, and __god__ , he never wanted this to end. But the thought of the guards behind them — and the dozens more that could be coming, their weapons charged and ready to strike them all down — stirred his feet into motion, and he followed the group across the field.

Patton gave his hand a squeeze as they rushed across the field. He was grinning so widely, his face shiny and streaked with tears, and in the sun’s light, he was __golden —__  his hair and his eyes shining with a brilliant aureate light, his smile so bright that he rivaled the sun itself. For the first time in forever, Virgil was able to return his friend’s smile.

There was a car waiting just around the corner, right past the charred, melted gates, its driver waving frantically at them to hurry. Virgil climbed into the back of the car with the rest of the scapees, tucking his legs up to his chest as he was smooshed against the wall.

 _ _Something’s gonna go wrong,__  his mind told him as he watched the others climb in after him. __Something’s gonna go wrong, this is too good to be true, don’t get comfortable, it’s not gonna last!__

 _ _Shut up,__  he told his mind, biting his lip nervously.

“Sorry there’s not more room,” the driver said, letting out a soft breath that rustled the strands of purple hair hanging in his face. “What took so long, anyway?” he asked Logan as Roman pushed him out of the way and climbed into the passenger seat with a cry of “shotgun!”

“Well, we would have been out sooner if __someone__  had found us faster,” Roman said in a playful tone as Logan yanked the car doors shut and slid into the seat beside Virgil. Logan narrowed his eyes.

“I would have found you sooner if you had given me your location instead of disrupting my telepathy with your endless flirting, Roman,” he replied, raising his eyebrow. Roman shrugged, turning in his seat to offer Logan a coy smile.

“Well, __I__  wouldn’t have flirted so much if you didn’t get so adorably flustered every time!”

Virgil watched in confusion (and maybe a little bit of amusement) as Logan floundered like a fish out of water, his face burning bright red. “I — you — I am __not__  adorable!” he finally responded.

“Yes you are,” Roman replied.

“Falsehood!”

The driver nearly swerved off the road at Logan’s sudden outburst, crying out in fear, and Virgil couldn’t blame him; he’d nearly screamed too. “Guys!” the driver snapped, twisting around in his seat to give them both a scathing look. “Is now __really__  the ti —”

His words were cut off by a sudden sound, the piercing __bang__  of a gunshot.

The window just beside Virgil’s head nearly broken as a spiderweb of crack splintered across it, and the car swerved so suddenly that he was sent crashing into the seat in front of him, his face slamming into the old fabric as screams rang out throughout the car.

“We’ve got company!” the driver exclaimed, his voice high with panic as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

 _ _I was right,__  Virgil’s mind gloated. __You’re all gonna die and it’s all your fault.__

Virgil pushed himself back into his seat as more gunshots rang out around them, his heart pounding against his ribs nearly as loudly as the gunshots pounding through the air. His stomach lurched as the car swerved again, and he caught a glimpse of the sleek, expensive-looking car giving chase through the nearly-broken window.

The Doctor was sitting in the front seat.

Virgil couldn’t breathe. His lungs were on fire and he could breathe and he was going to __die, they were all going to die, he knew this was too good to be true and now he was going to__ die —

Amidst the chaos, the gunshots and the screaming and the shards of panic cutting open Virgil’s lungs, Patton’s hand found his and held on tightly.

“Logan, can you take car of them?” the driver asked, swerving this way and that in a futile attempt to escape the bullets. Logan picked himself up off the floor of the car, trying desperately to stay upright as the car jerked around him.

“I — I can try,” he said, gripping the seat so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. He shifting in the seat until he was kneeling on the soft fabric, peeking up over the headrest and trying his best to focus on the car behind them. The car went silent, save for the growling of the engine and Patton’s soft voice as he murmured reassurances to the young girl crying in the seat in front of him. Virgil watched in terror, his heart clawing at his throat as it tried to escape through his mouth.

But the moment of near-silence passed within a heartbeat, and Logan was sent sprawling across the car as the driver swerved to avoid the latest shower of gunfire.

“I cannot get —” Logan slammed into the car door beside him as the car jerked to the right. “I can’t focus, you’re swerving too much!”

“Would you rather he stayed still and __let__  us all get shot to death?” Roman retorted, glancing out his window with a dangerous mixture of anger and fear on his face. A moment later, his eyes flickered with the ghost of an idea — and then he was rolling down his window and wiggling right through it.

 _ _“Shit,”__  Logan swore, shoving his way through the group to get to the front. “Roman, don’t you __dare!”__

But Roman was already out, his feet braced against the edge of the seat and his hand gripping the roof of the car tightly. Virgil reeled, slapping his hand over his mouth in a panic as his mind blanked save for __Roman, Roman’s out there with the bullets and the Doctor__  and _ _Roman dead, Roman bleeding and dying all because he tried to save them__.

__All because he tried to save_ _ **_**_you._ ** _ **

Roman, for what it’s worth, didn’t look scared at all; rather, he whooped with joy as the wind whipped his hair around his face, looking so alive in that one moment that it seemed impossible that he could die. But the gunshots still rang out around, and the car’s swerving was the only thing keeping them from piercing him through and bringing an end to this moment of brilliant madness.

He closed his eyes and held his free hand close to his chest, and scarlet light spilled out from between his closed fingers. The fire grew quickly; scarlet flames racing across his arms and his torso and then his whole body. For a moment, time seemed to slow — and there was only Roman, shining brilliantly, his teeth bared in a wide grin and his body glowing with beautiful flames.

And then time slammed back into place and he thrust his hand forward.

The Doctor hadn’t even seen it coming; he barely had time to swerve out of the way before the wall of blinding fire slammed into his car. He leaped from his seat and onto the dirt road as the car exploded in a mass of searing heat.

But the driver hadn’t seen it coming either, and the sudden blast sent their car flying forwards, propelled powerfully down the road. Logan dived into Roman’s seat, grabbing his legs to keep him from falling out of the window, and Virgil was shoved backwards into Patton as the car blasted forwards, the driver screaming fearfully as he desperately tried to keep the car on the road.

They barely slowed down, even when the power of Roman’s fire had worn off, even when the Doctor and his car had long since faded behind them — almost as though the driver’s foot had been anchored to the car’s floor. Ten minutes had passed before the car even began to slow. No one spoke, save for a hushed conversation between the driver and Roman and Logan, and no one dared to breathe, either.

Virgil wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe again, after all he’d gone through.

 _ _Can I just catch, like,__ one _ _break?__ he wondered silently, his eyes still wide with fear and his heart still beating, terrified, against his ribs.

Eventually, a house appeared on the horizon, standing out among a field of trees. It was a cozy-looking place, if a bit lonely; the only house within view, it stood high above the short trees surrounding it, its windows shining with warm light and smoke silently drifting from the chimney. It was only once the driver had pulled into the driveway of the house that he breathed a sigh of relief, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel and running a shaking hand through his indigo hair.

“Are you all alright back there?” he asked, turning in his seat to look at the refugees behind him. They were all crowded around Patton — much like how baby birds would crowd around their mother — and he was doing his best to comfort them, one hand locked with Virgil’s as he ran his fingers reassuringly through the young girl’s hair.

“Yeah, we’re okay!” Patton managed a smile, cheerful even through the fear of the day; sometimes, Virgil wondered how he stayed so happy through it all. “Just a little shaken up, is all.”

“Good.” The driver sat back in his seat, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. He pushed his hair out of his face and smiled, breathing heavily. __“Good.__  Okay, we did it. Oh my goodness gracious, we __actually__  did that.”

He chuckled at the fear in his own voice, the sound shaky and quiet. “I’m sorry that was so… stressful,” he said, turning back to the group. “But, um, you’re all safe. I’m the owner of this place. It’s sort of a safe house for people like us.”

“People with powers,” Logan supplied. Thomas nodded.

“My name is Thomas,” the driver said, his smile lopsided and kind, “and you’re safe here.”


	6. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this is just a bit of exposition before the real action begins. There was going to be more to this chapter, but it got too long and I had to split it up. Next chapter should be soon! Monday, at the very least.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_This had to be a dream._

As Virgil stared up at the house, his eyes wide with disbelief, he knew in his heart that there was no other explanation. This _ _had__ to be a dream; it was much too good to be true.

The house before him looked so __warm__ ; the scent of pasta floating through an open window, accompanied by the comforting sound of a soft conversation, warm light shining through the windows. It looked so cozy and inviting, and Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to believe that it was real.

Was he really here? Had he __really__  ever left the Doctor’s lab? Everything in him, every instinct trained by years of torture, told him that __no, he’d never left, this was all a dream and he was going to wake up soon and lose it all —__  but his fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands, and that felt __real__ , and so did the dirt beneath his bare feet, and the soft summer’s breeze on his bare skin, and the warmth of the last dying rays of sunset-light as the sun dipped below the horizon. It all felt so __real.__

So why couldn’t he believe it?

Thomas stood near his car, a little ways off, his hands on his hips as he surveyed he numerous bullet-holes across the sleek silver, and __he__  looked real. Roman had one arm wrapped around Thomas’ shoulders and the other wrapped around Logan’s, and his face broke out into a proud grin when Thomas pointed out the ashy black burn-marks on the side of the car, his grin only growing when Logan sighed, shook his head, and called Roman “incurably __extra.”__

__They seemed real._ _

Patton was on the other side of the car, coaxing a terrified child out, his face soft and comforting. He’d quickly become the “mother-hen” of their group, and, to be honest, he looked like he couldn’t have been happier with the job. His hand was curled around the hand of the youngest refugee, a little girl who couldn’t have been older than ten, and he ran his hand through the hair of a small boy leaning heavily into his right side.

Virgil watched them quietly, something akin to happiness sparkling to life in his chest. __He__  didn’t deserve this — this freedom, this hope — but __god,__  Patton had never deserved anything less.

__And he seemed real._ _

Patton noticed him staring, and his smile only grew. He waved cheerfully at Virgil, quickly making his way over with three children crowding around him like a flock of little ducklings. His auburn haired glowed with the dying embers of the sunset, and his eyes sparkled with happiness. “You okay?” he asked softly, trading his sunshine-bright grin for a smile as soft as the pink of the sunset.

In response, Virgil laughed. It was a soft sound, slow in coming and wavering like a leaf in the wind; it lodged in his chest, somewhere between fear and exhaustion, and burned brightly throughout his lungs. “Okay?” he asked, his voice shaking with laughter.

And Patton laughed, too — and the sound was different from Virgil, full-bodied and happy and hopeful and __free__ ; and then Virgil’s heart was filled with a different kind of freedom, something swooping and shocking and warm.

__This felt real._ _

Roman was the first to the door when Thomas led them all to the house, and he opened it with a dramatic flourish, holding his arms out wide in a grand display. “Welcome home!”

 _ _Home.__  The word felt… strange to Virgil, foreign in his mind. He swallowed thickly as he followed the others inside, the remnants of laughter in his chest giving way to freezing droplets of trepidation.

A conversation held in a room somewhere off in the house stopped abruptly when Thomas set down his keys and called out, “were home!” There was a distant sound of scrambling, and then two figures appeared in the doorway, their faces lined with worry (and, in the case of the shorter one, anger).

The taller one strode forward quickly, reaching beneath their orange beanie to rub at their forehead in relief. “Thank __god,”__  they said, wrapping their arms tightly around Thomas. “We were worried sick! You can’t just… just…”

They’d taken notice of Virgil and the others, standing awkwardly behind Roman and Logan. The shorter person stared at them, one colorful eyebrow raised in disbelief, and Virgil’s stomach churned with worry at the expression on their face.

“You __didn’t.”__

Thomas flashed a sheepish, guilty grin, glancing back at Roman and Logan and nodding at them to lead the fugitives into the living room. “We… did, actually. I — I’m sorry, I should’ve told you guys before we left, but I knew you’d mom-friend me into not going and we __had__  to go.”

“Holy shit, you, you actually —” Where the taller one stopped, the other friend stepped in, fury written all over their tiny face.

“You can’t just go to the Doctor’s without telling us, Thomas! You — you could’ve — __died!”__  Their voice was halting and shaky, and Virgil couldn’t blame them. He sat gently on the couch and watched the three argue, feeling something hot and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach.

__This is your fault._ _

“Actually, we almost __did__  die,” Logan pointed out, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he sat in a well-worn armchair and grabbed a book from the shelf beside it.

__All your fault. They could have_ _ **_**_died_ ** _ ** __because of you._ _

“Ah, yes! ‘Twas a perilous battle indeed!” Roman sighed dramatically, draping himself across Logan’s lap and placing the back of his hand against his forehead. Logan paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a breath, his face lined with annoyance. “If it hadn’t been for me, they would all have fallen prey to the Doctor’s evil forces!”

Was… was that guy ever __not__  extra? Virgil wasn’t sure __what__  to think of him, or his serious… boyfriend? Were they dating? He couldn’t even tell.

…Then again, he’d never been very good at telling when love was “in the air.”

(By his side, Patton’s hand curled tighter around his).

“You two are __not__  helping,” Thomas said with a groan, leaning against the arm of the couch and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, guys. I’m really sorry. But he was _ _torturing__ them!”

“I —” The taller friend stopped, rubbed the bridge of their nose, and breathed out a heavy sigh. “Thomas, if I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you.”

“I’m already considering hating him,” the other friend offered, crossing their arms as they collapsed into a chair. “One of these days, your caring nature is gonna get you __killed.”__

“I love you guys, too,” Thomas replied, his smile earnest.

“Besides,” Roman began, grunting as he tried to get back to his feet, “we __didn’t__  die, so it’s fine! No harm done, right?”

The two looked at Roman with identical deadpan expressions, and he shrunk beneath their glare. “Ooh, someone got mom-friended,” Logan muttered under his breath, idly turning the page of his book.

“Shut up,” Roman whispered back.

“Okay.” Thomas got to his feet and turned to face the group huddled together on the couch. “Are you all okay?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. Virgil didn’t respond, averting his gaze to a spot on the wall behind Thomas. He wanted to trust this man and his friends __so badly__ , to allow himself to get swept up in this wave of freedom, but his stomach churned at the memory of the last time he’d __trusted.__

__He couldn’t let that happen again._ _

But Thomas wasn’t deterred by the lack of response. “Well, my name is Thomas! You already know that, but… This is Joan,” he said, and the taller friend offered a chill wave,” and this is Talyn.” The shorter friend ran a hand through their colorful hair and their face softened as they smiled at the group, their previous anger forgotten. “And this —” he gestured to the room around himself. “— is my house! And, well, also __your__  house, unless we can get you guys back to your own homes.”

Virgil’s stomach lurched at the thought. He shrank deeper into the plush couch’s cushions, his free hand curled so tightly into a fist that his palm began to sting. __You can’t go back, you can never go back, they’ll hate you for what you did, they’ll kill you, you__ ** _ ** _monster —_**_**  his thoughts began spiraling wildly out of control, and he made no effort to stop them.

After all, they were right, weren’t they?

He caught Logan giving him a funny look, and he glanced away, his foot tapping anxiously against the soft carpet.

“This is a safe house for those with powers,” Logan began, returning his attention to his book. “The Doctor does not know where we are, or eve that we exist. You are all safe here.”

“We’ve been fighting him in secret for months now!” Roman started when Logan stopped, his arms spread wide in excitement. “It’s all very exciting. We’re a secret group of powered vigilantes, working in the shadows, __destroying__  the forces of evil!”

“ _ _And__  protecting anyone who needs it,” Thomas finished. “So, for now, make yourselves at home The bathroom is down the hall, the first door on your left, and we’ve got some extra rooms that we’ve set up for you guys, and dinner should be ready soon. Right, Talyn?”

Talyn froze. Their eyes widened. “My spaghetti!” they cried, jumping up from the chair and out of the room, muttering curses under their breath. Joan chuckled fondly, getting to their feet.

“Nice to meet you all,” they said, giving one last wave to the group on the couch as they followed Talyn out of the room.

“Well,” Thomas said, collapsing into Talyn’s vacated chair and letting out a soft breath that ruffled the strands of hair hanging in his face, “a __slightly burned__  dinner should be ready soon.”

Virgil watched as he pushed his hair out of his face, feeling his body thrum with nervous energy, a crackle of anxiety racing through his lungs and quickening his breathing.

He __wanted__  to trust this. He __wanted__ to be free, to allow himself to truly believe, if only for a moment, that he was worthy of it. But how could he know that Thomas wasn’t just another Doctor, ready to destroy him all over again?

 _ _This isn’t right,__  his mind told him over and over in a maddening rush of doubt. __You don’t deserve this. It’s too good to be true. Something’s going to go wrong. This isn’t right, isn’t right,__ ** _ ** _isn’t right —_**_**

Logan was staring at him again, his gaze unreadable behind his thick glasses. Virgil shrunk beneath his scrutinizing glare, his mind spiraling further and further —

****Breathe.** **

A new thought cut through the fog, strong and unyielding.

****You are safe here. You can trust Thomas; he would never harm any living creature. You are worthy of this.** **

Virgil blinked, confused. This… this was new. Since when had __he__  had positive thoughts? He shook his head silently, his eyebrows furrowing, and almost remembered someone mentioning something about telekinesis when —

“I guess some introductions are in order?” Thomas was saying, his fingers drumming on the arms of the chair absentmindedly. Roman gasped excitedly, hurriedly getting to his feet and bowing to the group on the couch. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Welcome to our home!” he exclaimed dramatically as he straightened up, his grin overconfident and regal. “Roman Mills, at your service! I will be your “personal trainer” whilst you’re here, and I will do my best to teach you to use your powers as magnificently as I use mine!”

“I am Logan Westbrook,” Logan said simply, and went back to reading.

Of the group of refugees, Patton was the first to speak, his voice hushed so as not to wake the little girl curled into his side. “My name’s Patton Morris!” he said, and though his tone was cheerful, there was an undercurrent of distrust beneath his words, a hint of wariness that gave Virgil a bit of relief.

__He wasn’t the only one unsure of their new “friends.”_ _

“This is Rose,” he said, nodding towards the sleeping girl, his hand running gently through her long brown hair. The other two looked to him nervously, and Virgil’s heart hurt to see the slowly-healing bruises across their arms and legs, and the fear in their eyes. He wasn’t the only one the Doctor had __broken.__

Patton nodded at them encouragingly, and Thomas smiled, his face impossibly gentle. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I’m… m’name is Quinn,” the older of the two said finally, his voice breaking with exhaustion. “Th-this is my sister — she’s C-Celeste.”

Thomas leaned forward slightly and the two flinched, Quinn’s arms wrapping protectively around his younger sister. Patton’s grip of Virgil’s hand tightened — in anger, in fear, in sadness — and Virgil squeezed back, giving Patton all the reassurance that he wished he could feel himself.

“It’s okay!” Thomas said quickly leaning back. “You’re safe.”

“You have both been so brave!” Roman said, his voice hushed so as not to scare them. “But you do not have to be brave any longer! We shall protect you from any foul villains!”

“The Doctor does not know where we are,” Logan continued, raising an eyebrow at Roman (who was striking a dramatic pose, one fist held in the air), “and even if he did, we are more than capable of protecting you, as evidenced by our victory tonight. There is no reason to be worried.”

“Yeah!” Roman grinned. “We’re __serious__  butt-kickers!”

Quinn still looked unsure, his sister still clutching so tightly to his shirt that it seemed she might never let go, but the ghost of a smile was gracing his face.

And then it was Virgil’s turn.

All eyes were on him. His face burned. He averted his gaze and swallowed thickly, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever, his voice broken and hesitant. “Virgil,” he muttered finally. There was a moment of silence that lasted an eternity — __they’re watching you, they know how bad you are, this is it, they hate you,__ ** _ ** _you don’t deserve this_**_**  — but then Thomas smiled, and though his eyes lingered on the cuffs on Virgil’s wrists for a moment, he didn’t bring it up.

“I know you’ve all been through a lot,” he began — and Virgil had to stop himself from laughing, because __wow, was that the understatement of the century__  — “but you’re safe now. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ll protect you, no matter what. I promise.”

__Virgil only wished he could believe him._ _

 


	7. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoo  
> sorry for the wait for this one! I wanted to have it out by monday, but inspiration is a fickle thing and I only just finished it last night. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (also, davidthetraveler, for some reason it wouldn't let me respond to your comment, so i hope you're okay with me using the line from one of your comments: "shadow is the opposite of light, not the opposite of good." if not, just tell me and i'll take it out! thanks again for enjoying the story, im glad you're liking it)
> 
> Mmkay, warnings for this chapter: there's some blood and some death, but don't worry, it's not as it seems ;) — but if you're not okay with stuff like that, i suggest you skip this chapter. it's not that intense, but still.
> 
> aaaanyway, enjoy!

“This is your fault.”

Patton was lying at Virgil’s feet, limp against the ground. His arms were splayed, his legs bent at odd angles, his glasses hanging, askew, in front of empty eyes. He was dead.

__“You__  did this.”

Roman was a little ways off, his clothes burnt and marred with deep scarlet. His face was slack, his green eyes devoid of anything and everything. He was __dead.__

“This is __all your fault.”__

Logan was sprawled beside Roman, lying on his stomach, their hands close but not quite touching. His glasses laid, shattered, beside him, and the dirt beneath him was dark with blood. He was unmoving, unknowing. __He was dead.__

“Look at me, Virgil.”

__He__  stepped carefully over their empty bodies, his footsteps soft, and gently tilted Virgil’s head up. His touch was ice, freezing-cold ice; Virgil couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond __they’re dead, they’re dead, it’s your fault you killed them they’re dead and it’s your fault!__

The Doctor shook his head, his cold blue eyes flooded with false remorse. “I did try to warn you, Virgil. I really did.” One swift movement, a sharp, powerful push, and suddenly Virgil was on the ground at the Doctor’s feet, scrambling to get away. “You’re nothing but a __monster.”__

__“No!”__  Virgil moaned, his hands knotting into his long hair, his eyes squeezed shut as red-hot tears slid down his cheeks and burned into his skin. “No, __no, I didn’t — I didn’t do this!”__

He curled in on himself as the Doctor approached, shaking. __Your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault,__  his mind taunted, louder and louder until he was drowning in the noise, in the tears flowing painfully down his cheeks. __It’s your fault!__

“You deserve this, Virgil. You know you do.” The Doctor was standing above him and there was a knife in his hand, jagged and horrible as it glinted in the light. And then he was lunging, bringing the knife down in a brilliant arc, and Virgil didn’t try to stop him, because __he deserved it, he killed them, all his fault all his fault all his fault —__

“Virgil!”

He snapped awake and shot upwards in bed, a sob tearing from his lungs as cold sweat rolled down his back. His breath lodged in his throat with a horrible, shattering cry, and he doubled over, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he clutched at his head. Images flashed through his mind — __the nightmare, the Doctor, the blood, dying dying dying__ ** _ ** _all your fault —_**_**  and his chest ached unbearably as he sobbed.

__Stop stop stop stop,__  he thought forcefully, over and over, his mind a rolling sea of panic as he desperately tried to push the nightmare from his mind. His stomach rolled and churned and threatened to send his dinner back up, and his cheeks burned as he harshly swiped at them, desperate to stop the flowing tears.

Someone was whispering comfort in his ear, and there was a whisper-soft touch on his back, rubbing comforting circles across his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” the voice was saying gently; a lighthouse standing out among the rolling darkness, a rock to hold onto as the tides tried to sweep Virgil awake. A hand wrapped around his and held tight, and warmth bloomed in his chest. “It’s gonna be okay.”

__It was all a dream,__  his mind told him, infuriatingly smug as he remembered the night before. __You’re back at the Doctor’s, it was all a dream, better stop crying before they come to hurt you, because they’ll hurt him too.__

He bit down on his lip so hard that he was sure he’d slice it right in two, his face burning as he swept away the tears, fear flooding his body and wrapping tightly around his lungs — but then Patton turned on the light and the dam he’d been building broke right in two. Suddenly, he was sobbing again.

It wasn’t the Doctor’s. __It wasn’t the Doctor’s.__  It was a small, cozy room, with blue walls and a soft white carpet, with a comfy bed and a blanket patterned with stars, with a rainbow flag tacked to the far wall and soft purple curtains fluttering around the open window. His breathing became sharp, pained, as his eyes raced hungrily over every inch of the room. __It wasn’t a dream,__  his heart said with every beat, even as his mind refused to believe it. __It wasn’t a dream!__

A pair of slender, warm arms wrapped around his shaking frame, and he leaned into Patton, sucking in a deep breath. “That’s it, deep breaths, kiddo.” Patton’s voice was hushed, his thumb tracing patterns across Virgil’s arm. “You’re okay.”

And slowly but surely, Virgil began to calm down, clutching Patton’s voice in his mind just as Patton clutched him in his arms. Slowly but surely he relaxed into Patton’s comforting grip, and the two slid down the headboard until they were lying together. This was practically a ritual for them at this point; ever since Patton had first woken to find Virgil trapped in a nightmare, back when they were kids, and had been the only one there to comfort it away.

Virgil let out a shuddering breath, leaning closer into Patton, and Patton’s fingers ran through Virgil’s hair, pulling apart the sweaty black tangles with gentle ease. “You’re okay,” Patton said in a voice barely above a whisper, laced with care. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re okay.”

__We’re okay,__  Virgil repeated silently, forcing the words to calm the storm within in. He sucked in deep, shaking breaths, his cheeks shining with tears, and his eyes slowly slipped shut. __We’re__  okay, he said again, focusing on the warmth that Patton’s sound brought and wishing, for a moment, that it could heal what couldn’t be seen.

__We’re__   _ _okay,__  he said, and slipped back into sleep, protected in Patton’s arms.

 

 

Patton was gone by the time he woke up.

He’d slept without nightmares, without so much as a hint of dream, but he still felt as though he’d never slept less in his entire life. Sunlight filtered through his window, and even though exhaustion fogged his brain and his body begged for more sleep, he couldn’t help the flutter of wonder that shot through his heart at the sight.

__It wasn’t a dream._ _

He made his way downstairs slowly, his bare feet sinking into the plush white carpet, and found Patton in the kitchen, devouring a plate of scrambled eggs with his three little ducklings by his side as he chattered animatedly with Roman. He caught sight of Virgil, lingering nervously on the staircase, and jumped to his feet, his face lighting up.

Some part of Virgil wondered what it was that made Patton so happy to see __him.__

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” he asked, and the innocent question held an undertone of concern, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest bit as he studied Virgil. Virgil fidgeted under his gaze, averting his eyes to the food on the table, his stomach growling.

“I’m… okay…” he said slowly, chancing a glance at Roman and Logan and wondering if he was allowed to eat. Logan wasn’t focusing on him, or really anything beside the thick, well-worn book held in his hands. His food laid, abandoned, on his plate. Roman grinned at him, looking immaculate despite the early hour, and suddenly Virgil felt ashamed of his bed-head and the bags beneath his eyes.

“Did you sleep well, sleepy beauty?” Roman asked, chuckling as Virgil yawned, and he pushed a plate of eggs and bacon towards him. Virgil shared a quick look with Patton, who nodded encouragingly as he diligently sliced Rose’s bacon into pieces.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, sliding into a seat beside Patton and glancing down the table. Thomas sat at the other end, locked in conversation with Joan and a short man with dark skin that Virgil hadn’t met yet. There were other powered people at the table, too, talking and laughing and acting so __normal__. Virgil’s heart panged.

Would he ever be able to be like them?

“So!” Roman looked excited, straightening up and glancing at each of the new arrivals in turn. “As your resident super-powered, super-amazing trainer, I need to know each of your powers.” He glanced at Virgil again, his green eyes lingered on the silver cuffs around his wrists. “Unless you don’t want to tell me, of course. I don’t mind either way.”

Logan looked up from his book, seemingly intrigued by the new topic of conversation. His brown eyes glittered with interest behind his thick glasses.

“Well…” Patton, as always, was the first to speak. “I can heal stuff with my touch! Or…” He paused for a moment, and Virgil knew what was coming. “If the hurt isn’t __physical__ , I can heal it with some Patton-ted cuddles!”

“But that does not make sense. A cell regenerating power shouldn’t…” Logan trailed off. “Oh. You… you meant… Oh no.”

“Well, guess I’m not getting a __Patton__  the back for that one!”

Logan looked like he was going through some great pain. “Get me out of here, I need to leave,” he said, as Patton dissolved into giggles. Roman patted Logan on the back, nodding proudly at Patton.

“I like you,” he said, and Patton beamed so brightly the sun dimmed in shame. “Now then… how about you, young princess? Will you tell me your power?”

And so it went. Virgil watched as Patton encouraged the three little kids to show off their powers. Rose could (quite ironically, as Logan pointed out) manipulate the growth of plants; Quinn placed his hands on the metal sink faucet and it warped and twisted beneath his hand; and Celeste could hover a few inches off the ground, though she claimed she could go higher.

“Beautiful!” Roman said, clapping excitedly along with Patton, and a quick elbow-jab as Logan made him set down his book and start clapping as well. The three blushed at the attention, and Rose hid her face in Patton’s shirt.

And then — then, when Virgil was __just__  starting to relax, when he’d begun to dig into his eggs and allow the comfort of the homely kitchen to begin to drive the first bits of discomfort from his soul — Roman turned to him. He didn’t say anything, but Virgil knew what he wanted. He could feel his cuffs digging into his skin, and he set his hands in his lap, hiding them beneath the table.

“I-I can… I….” __Damn it,__  why was his voice shaking so badly? It was a simple thing to say; just a few words and then the attention would be off of him and he could go back to eating in peace. He felt like he was burning under the glare of a thousand prying eyes.

Patton opened his mouth to speak as he noticed Virgil’s discomfort, shooting Roman a Look™, and Roman looked away quickly, about to speak as well. But then…

“I can control shadows.”

It was like a band-aid: easier to rip off all at once than to sit there and peel it away, agonizing bit by agonizing bit. He gasped, afterwards, his fingers curling tightly around his chair as he waited for the reaction; the inevitable realization that darkness is bad, so __he__  must be bad, too.

__They’re going to hate you they’re going to hate you they’re going to hate you._ _

“Hmm.”

An interested hum was not what Virgil was expecting, but it was what he got. Logan looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Umbrakinesis, if I am not mistaken. A fascinating power.”

“Wha — but —” This was __not__  what he was expecting and now he was floundering, unsure of what do say or do. At least he’d know how to react to hatred! He’d been dealing with __that__  for years! But acceptance? Interest?

__What the actual shit was happening?_ _

“That __is__  actually quite cool! I honestly should have guessed it, it __does__  fit with your whole ‘dark and gloomy’ vibe.”

“Roman,” Patton said gently, his Look™ intensifying.

“What? That’s a compliment!”

“But —” No, no, no, this wasn’t right, they should be __hating__  him. He __deserved__  to be hated. But they weren’t! Logan was interested and Roman was excited and they __didn’t__  hate him. “But it’s… I’m… it’s __dangerous.”__

Roman blinked. “Well, yes, of course. All powers are __dangerous__ , to some degree.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, it’s — it’s different, I’ve __hurt__  people, I’m… I’m not a good person. The shadows __aren’t good.”__  Why was he trying so hard to deny what they were saying? Why would he __want__  to __make__  them hate him?

__Because he knew he didn’t deserve this._ _

“Virge…” Patton glanced at him, his eyebrows furrowed.

“We’ve __all__  hurt people, Virgil. I mean, I nearly burned down my __entire__  childhood home! Thank god Thomas found me and taught me __some__  self control.”

“Debatable,” Logan interjected, the corners of his mouth twitching when Roman sent him an offended glare.

__“Anyway,”__  he said, raising an eyebrow at Logan in annoyance, “That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person!”

“Yes.” Logan nodded, shoving his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Darkness is the opposite of __light,__  not the opposite of good. Umbrakinesis is a __dark__  power, obviously, but that does not make in inherently evil. In all actuality, darkness can be quite healing at times, and it is often needed.”

Virgil’s chest ached with how hard he was trying to keep from crying. His fingers clutched at the edge of his seat so tightly he was surprised he wasn’t breaking it. The room seemed to sway around him, his “reality” — the one the Doctor had built, for years and years, on a foundation of hated; the reality of __you’re not good enough, you’ll never be good enough, you’re nothing but a dark monster —__ beginning to come undone.

“It can be terrifying to learn to control something like this,” Roman said, not looking at Virgil but rather at a little flame he’d summoned above his finger, studying the small flicker of light. Somehow, Virgil got the feeling that Roman knew this from personal experience. In a flash, Roman closed in hand and extinguished the flame, and now faced Virgil with a grin nearly as bright as the flame had been. “But you don’t have to do it alone! I shall guide you through this treacherous territory!”

His voice was loud, boisterous with a heroic edge, but Virgil could hear the sincerity beneath it all, and it __terrified__  him. And Logan was watching, some hint of encouragement hidden in the schooled calm of his brown eyes, and Patton was smiling at him, nodding happily. __See?__  the glimmer in Patton’s eyes seemed to say. __I told you we’d be okay.__

Maybe… Maybe he’d been wrong, all these years? Even as his mind screamed at him to __stop, no, this is wrong you’re wrong you’re__ ** _ ** _bad_**_** _ _,__ he couldn’t help but wonder.

He’d never be free of the shadows. He knew that by now; they’d found him when he was nine and they’d stay with him forever and even after that. But he’d been running from them for so long, forcing himself to be something he’s not…

__Stop!__  the part of him more prone to panic yelled. __You’re making a mistake, this is wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong —__

Virgil had to make a decision. And, __god,__  he’d never been faced with anything harder in his entire life. The kitchen went silent, save for Thomas’ quiet conversation further down the table; but Virgil’s mind was as loud as ever, filled with __what ifs__  and __why nots.__

Virgil had to make a decision.

He glanced at Logan and Roman, the former lost again in the pages of his book and the latter nodding at him encouragingly, and at Patton, surrounded by his duckling, his smile so wide and so proud that it made Virgil feel like nothing he ever did could be wrong. He took in a deep breath, thinking…

He made a decision.

He held out his hands, wrists together, towards Roman.


	8. Powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait for this one! It's been a super busy week for me, so I barely had time to write. Hopefully, I can get the next one out soon, by next Tuesday at the latest.  
> Hope you enjoy!

The cuffs were off.

__Oh no,__  Virgil thought, as the cuffs clattered against the table with a crash like a judge’s gavel, sentencing him to death, and he recoiled, his mind exploding with regret. Patton was cheering and Logan was nodding approvingly and Roman was blowing on his hands to put out the embers dancing across them, but Virgil was __breaking,__  his breathing quick and panicked as he fell back into his seat.

__What had he done?__  He’d gotten so caught up in the moment, so caught up in the others’ confidence in him — and now the shadows were __back, oh god, any moment now his stomach would tug and his hands would tingle and there was no escape now, oh god —__

His hands clenched into fists and he grit his teeth, forcing the spiral to stop before he fell too far. __They’re watching,__  he told himself. __Don’t break down now.__

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, one eyebrow raised in concern. He forced himself to nod, his fingers worrying the hem of his shirt anxiously. A moment passed, charged and silent, and then Virgil realized something that made his blood run cold.

__They wanted him to show them his powers._ _

“You do not have to give a demonstration of your abilities right now, if you do not want to,” Logan said, reading the uncertainty off of Virgil’s face, and suddenly Virgil was faced with another decision. His eyebrows furrowed and he bit his lip, his fingers curling around the edges of his chair; then he shook his head, slowly, his long bangs falling in his face.

“No,” he said, and to his relief his voice didn’t shake nearly as much as he’d been expecting. “I… I can do this. It’s fine.” It was not, in all actuality, fine, but why should he make them worry? He could do this. __He could do this.__

__He couldn’t do this._ _

But Roman was already leading them out of the kitchen and into the backyard — a great field of swaying tall grass, leading into a forest — and he couldn’t back out, couldn’t change his mind. His legs shook as he followed; he felt like a soldier marching into a battle he was destined to lose, like every step brought him closer to disaster, but still he kept going, for some irrational fear of disappointing those who had been so nice to him.

Roman stopped in the center of the field and sat, cross-legged, among the swaying blades of grass. Virgil followed suit, sitting opposite him, breathing quick breaths of almost-autumn air as he tried desperately to calm down.

__It’s no big deal,__  he tried to tell himself. __It’s not like before. There’s nothing to be worried about.__

__It’s a big deal!__ his mind screamed back. __It’s just like before, only worse, and you should be worried, very worried, this is wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong —__

“Alright, dark-and-gloomy,” Roman began, his voice kind beneath a slight air of teasing as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly. His green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Okay. __Okay.__  He just needed to… bring back the shadows. That’s it. __That’s all.__  He took a breath and closed his eyes, his chest tight and his mind screaming, and tried to forget about every single moment of his life since he’d turned nine; tried to forget, for a moment, how much pain the shadows had brought him.

__Darkness is the opposite of light, not the opposite of good,__  he told himself, over and over and over again. __They’re not bad. They’re just dark. That’s not bad. They’re not bad.__

His stomach began to tug.

He gasped, his eyes flying open; the feeling was so foreign now, but too familiar all the same. It felt like afternoons spent in the attic and nights spent awake; like shadows, swirling all around him.

__It’s not bad, it’s not bad, it’s not bad,__  he thought over and over as his heart tried to escape through his throat.

His fingers began to tingle.

He clenched and unclenched his hands anxiously as they tingled and stung, and tried to remember the very first day he’d found the shadows, how they’d first appeared. They weren’t trying to hurt him. __They weren’t bad.__

Darkness seemed to seep from the ground around him, gathering before him in a tiny, floating mass of shadows. Horror blossomed in his chest and he had to force himself to stay still even as his mind screamed at him to __run.__  A memory appeared in the back of his mind; suddenly, Timmy Williams’ scream was drowning out his other thoughts, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Ooh,” Roman said softly, leaning forward as he watched the little ball of shadows. He didn’t seem as all afraid of the shadows. It shied away from the sun, rippling like water as it floated in mid air.

__Okay. Okay. It’s okay.__  He watched the shadows with wide eyes, breathing slowly as he forced Timmy Williams from his mind. __It’s okay.__

__”You’re nothing but a monster.”_ _

Timmy’s voice had gone, but the Doctor’s took its place, cruel and cold as it blocked out the reassurance he was trying desperately to hold onto. His fingers curled around the blades of grass by his sides, his fingernails biting into the skin on his palms, and he forced the voice away.

“That’s so cool!” Patton leaned into Virgil’s side, watching the shadows excitedly, his eyes shining with excitement. Roman nodded, grinning widely.

“It’s very impressive,” he said. “What else can you do with them?”

Virgil floundered for a moment, caught off guard. They __liked__  the shadows? And thought they were __cool?__  Dimly, he realized that this was the first time anyone (including himself) had ever said anything truly nice about the shadows.

Something warm began to blossom in his chest.

What else __could__  he to with the shadows? He thought for a moment, and remembered suddenly a conversation held years before. He forced his doubts to recede to the back of his mind, and allowed the others’ confidence to, for a moment, fill him to the brim.

He closed his eyes, focusing, remembering how it only took a moment’s thought to control the shadows before, and then —

“Oh my gosh!”

He jumped at Patton’s sudden cry, his eyes flying open, but the cry was one of happiness, not of hatred or pain like he’d been expecting. He followed Patton’s gaze to the tiny shadow.

“I, uh… yeah. I can do that.” He willed the kitten-shaped shadow to Patton’s lap. “You… you said cats were your favorite animals, right?”

Patton looked close to tears, his hand gently stroking the cat-like void in his lap. Virgil’s heart fluttered in his chest; somewhere in his mind, he wondered if the shadows really __were__  all that bad, if they could bring Patton happiness like this.

Roman sidled up next to him as Patton pet the shadow-cat. “So, how does it __work?”__  he asked curiously. “Can they do anything you want them to?”

“I — I mean…” Virgil watched Patton excitedly show off the cat to Logan and the tree kids, rubbing the hem of his shirt nervously. “I… guess so? I, uh, haven’t done this since I was like… ten…”

“Can you use them to fight?” Roman asked, his eyes shining with interest — and suddenly Virgil was back in the library with Timmy Williams, trapped in echoes of a day long-since passed that would never really stop haunting him.

__“You’re a freak!”_ _

He winced, and the shadow-cat in Patton’s lap wavered like smoke in the wind as he tried to regain his calm. “Sorry,” Roman said, understanding in his eyes as he backed off, and Virgil took a long breath.

“This is amazing, Virge!” Patton cried, beaming brighter than the sun. Virgil did his best to smile back, ignoring how his heart jolted at the sight of the shadows. “What other animals can you make?”

“Well…”

A few moments later, as Virgil willed as dog woven from shadows to playfully chase the three kids around, his heart curled around Patton’s; as his stomach tugged and his hands tingled but, most of all, his heart fluttered — he wondered. Did he really deserve this? This happiness, this freedom?

His lifted his free had and a wisp of a shadow jumped from the ground and curled around his fingers. He studied it, silently, his stomach churning at the sight of the darkness.

__Shadows are the opposite of light, not the opposite of good._ _

He let out a breath, and the shadow disappeared. Maybe he __didn’t__  deserve this — but he had it, and he wasn’t going to let go. Right then, Virgil Sanders made a promise, his hand tightening around Patton’s, the corners of his lips twitching as Logan stumbled away from the shadow-dog, looking very ruffled.

__He was going to be okay._ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((ohh, Virgil, so optimistic......... better enjoy it while it lasts.))
> 
> ((mwahahahahahaha))


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Sorry for the wait on this one! My inspiration left me for someone with more time to write and I spent a week just,, staring at a blank page, waiting for it to come back. and then yesterday I spent all day thinking it was Monday, like some sort of idiot who has no idea how time works, and then I had to cram to write the entire thing because I wanted it out by wednesday and it was tuesday. so,,, that was fun. im sorry you all had to wait so long!))
> 
> mm just a little bit of Fluff™ because i wanted to explore Logan's character a bit more before i dive into the climax. this is sort of inspired by another fic of mine, Breaking and Entering? Not entirely, but i figured the basic context of that scene would fit for this.
> 
> ((also, to everyone who commented in fear about what I'm gonna do to their Boys.......... get ready. it's coming.))
> 
> (mwahahHAHAHA))
> 
> enjoy the chapter!

Virgil couldn’t sleep.

The house was silent, eerily so — and dark, so very dark, the night swirling with gloom. But as the hours grew longer and the night grew darker, he stayed awake; staring through the swirling shadows to the ceiling above, his stomach tugging and his fingers tingling and his mind __thinking__. It never seemed to stop doing that, either — __thinking__  about every it could get its hands on, nightmares and scenarios that could never play out and distorted memories of the ones that __had__ , and —

__“This is amazing, Virge!”_ _

— and __that.__

He let out a sigh that quickly became a whispered groan, the tugging in his stomach growing and fading like the tides against a beach. He knew that they were somewhere in this room; lurking shadows, hiding in some corner, swirling like smoke and wavering along with his stupid, wavering heart. And maybe __that__  was why he couldn’t sleep: while his mind was __thinking, thinking, thinking,__  his heart, like some sort of __idiot,__  was __feeling.__

But he didn’t know how to explain __what__  he was feeling. His chest felt tight, his heart stuttering endlessly with leftover adrenaline from a life of fight-or-flight; his mind felt muddled, swirled with confusion and disbelief (because they liked him, him __and__  the shadows, and how could he ever believe that?). But there was something else, too. Something… different.

It felt warm.

He groaned, rolling onto his back and running a frantic hand through his hair. His chest buzzed with adrenaline, his heart shuddering like a leaf in the wind. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, drift into some semblance of escape and forget, if only for a moment, the day’s events, but… sleep felt so far away that it might as well have been gone for good. He’d never been a fan of insomnia; at least back at the Doctor’s, the tests had been so exhausting that he’d never had trouble sleeping. But this? This was __maddening.__

 _ _Bad, bad, bad__ , his mind chanted, always __thinking__  and never stopping.

 _ _Good, good, good!__  his heart exclaimed with every bit, too busy __feeling__  to feel bad about keeping Virgil awake.

 _ _Shut up, shut up, shut up,__  he chanted back, his hands knotting into his hair in frustration. The room around him was much too silent, and __much__  too dark; gone was the constant buzz of fluorescent lights, and Patton’s soft snoring beside him, the things he’d gotten so used to at the Doctor’s. He didn’t __miss__  the Doctor’s, of course he didn’t.

But sometimes when you’ve gotten so used to torture, comfort can be… discomforting.

He sat up and leaned against the wall, and knew just by the feeling that a shadow had jumped to attention at the action. He willed it towards him and felt it curl around his bare wrist, peering at it through the darkness. __Bad bad bad bad bad,__  his mind yelled, over and over and over again. He let out a deep sigh, willing the shadows away, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

The hallways were a mess of inky blackness, and Virgil found himself grateful, for a moment, for his powers. The shadows made way for him like he was parting a crowd, the darkness not quite as oppressive, not quite as __everywhere.__

He snuck to the kitchen as quietly as he could, each footstep deafening, each creaky floorboard a nuclear explosion, the butterflies in his stomach beginning to bite through his lungs. Fear dogged his every step as he made his way into the kitchen, feeling guilty for even wanted a drink of water.

He took a breath and shoved the guilt from his mind. __This is okay,__  he told him, but didn’t quite believe it. __They won’t get mad at you for wanting water.__

 _ _How do you know?__  his mind replied, and made his hand shake as he reached towards the cabinet. __How__ could _ _you know? Maybe they’re faking it. They’re probably faking it. They hate you and this is gonna be the last straw.__

He held the glass under the faucet and gently turned the handle, tensing up as the water splashed into the cup with a noise like a small explosion. __They’re not faking it,__  he told himself, and his weak protest died under a barrage of __but how do you know?__

 _ _You shouldn’t be doing this,__  his mind told him, and his heart fluttered weakly in agreement. __You shouldn’t be doing this, this is bad, this is wrong, they’re going to find you. They already hate you, don’t make them hate you more!__

 _ _Shut up,__  Virgil said back, his fingers tightening around the glass. __Shut up, shut up, shut —__

“Virgil?”

Suddenly the lights were on. Suddenly someone was standing in the doorway. Suddenly he was yelping, the cup flying from his hands as he shot backward and shattering across the floor with a deafening crash. He reeled, his hand going to his mouth in shock.

__That’s it they hate you they’re going to kick you out what have you done —_ _

“I’m sorry!” His voice trembled and __god__  did he hate it. “I-I-I can clean it up, __shit, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up, I’m sorry!”__

“It is perfectly fine, Virgil. It’s only a cup.” A voice, clear and concise and calm, cut through the fog. “It was my fault, I startled you. Are you alright?”

“Am — am I —” He faltered, still reeling from the shock. “But I — I broke it —”

“It’s only a cup,” the voice repeated, and Virgil finally looked up. Logan stood in the doorway, looking rather ridiculous in a rumbled Nasa shirt and unicorn-patterned pajama pants, his hair a turmoil of tangles and knots sitting atop his head. He had one eyebrow raised, his expression unreadable beyond the concern housed in his gray eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” Virgil said again, when his mind blanked beyond __he doesn’t hate you (yes he does) he doesn’t hate you (yes he does).__ “I’ll — I’ll clean it up.”

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Virgil had already waved his hands, summoning the shadows from beneath the oven to sweep up the glass shards and dump them into the trash can in the corner. It amazed him, the level of power he held — but it horrified him too, and he was all too relieved when the shadows slunk back beneath the stove to avoid the glare of the light.

“Thank you,” Logan said when he was done. “Although, this was my fault to begin with. You did not have to clean it up.”

“No, no, it’s — I mean — I was the one sneaking around. I probably woke you up…” More guilt snuck into his chest, hot and uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he said once again.

“While the noise of the sink alerted me to your presence, it did not wake me. I was already awake.” He grabbed a handful of paper towels and stopped down, swiping up the droplets of water that the shadows had left behind. “I apologize for startling you. It was not my intention.

“I-It’s fine,” Virgil said, taking a breath. “Why… Why were you awake?”

 _ _Small talk? Really?__  Internally, he berated himself. But Logan merely shrugged, dropping the wet paper towel on top of the glittering glass-shards in the trash can.

“I suffer from insomnia,” he said simply, nodding to him before walking out of the kitchen. Virgil lingered awkwardly, unsure. A moment later… “Come along,” Logan said, poking his head back into the kitchen. Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Wh — but — w-why?” he asked, and then took a breath to calm his stuttering. Logan’s face remained impassive as he reached up to readjust his glasses, and then crossed his arms over his wrinkled Nasa shirt.

“I assume you’re having trouble sleeping. It would be illogical to allow you to continue suffering when I have something that could possibly help.” He shrugged. “At least, it always works for me.”

“Oh, I… Um.” He wanted to __help?__  That… didn’t make sense. At all. But Logan was waiting and Virgil was __making__  him wait and he couldn’t spend time now debating whether or not he deserved this, so he nodded even when his mind screamed at him not to and followed Logan through the house…

And out into the front yard.

This… wasn’t what he was expecting at all. Still, he followed, if only for some irrational fear of speaking up and ruining his chance at friendship; through the yard and around to the back of the house, towards a ladder propped up against the wall. “I apologize,” Logan said before they began climbing. “This must all seem rather strange to you.”

“Strange is… sorta my thing. I guess.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. The air around them seemed charged with awkward tension, but if Logan had noticed, he wasn’t showing it. “I mean — um, what __are__  we doing, through?”

“Whenever I find myself unable to sleep,” Logan said, starting up the ladder and gesturing for him to follow, “it is usually because I am unable to quiet my mind. You’re aware of my abilities, correct?”

“Er… yeah,” Virgil said. “And, uh, same.”

“Mhm. I assumed. Anyway, my abilities do not have a “shut-off” like yours. I cannot will them away, if need be, and occasionally it will become too much. When that happens, I come here.”

He hoisted himself up onto the roof of the house and made his way across, his steps sure, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. Virgil followed slowly, wobbling on the uncertain surface, biting back a swear each time his feet nearly slipping and sent him tumbling.

There was a flat section of roof above the attic window, just big enough to lay down on, and Logan hopped down onto his at sat, dangling his legs over the edge. Virgil followed, awkwardly; gently lowering himself down onto the platform and sitting on the other side, letting out a soft breath that ruffled the bangs hanging in his face. They sat like that, for a moment; silent and contemplative as they looked out at the world unfolded around them, the field and the trees and the streeet. Of in the distance, the lights of some city sparkled through the darkness.

“Look up,” Logan said suddenly, leaning back against the roof, and Virgil did, and — __woah__.

He’d missed the sun. He’d missed its warmth, its light, its __everything.__  But in his mourning of the morning he’d never quite realized how much he’d missed the __night__ ; still and quiet but so alive, buzzing with the brightness of a million stars, the company of a thousand constellations. He let out a long breath, his eyes wide as he took in the sight.

“This is… I…” What should he say? What __could__  he say? He felt overwhelmed, almost, but not in a bad way; stricken silent by the beauty of the stars. “Why are you… showing me this?” he asked finally, hesitantly.

“I could hear your thoughts,” Logan admitted, his gaze never leaving the sky. “I cannot… always help it. I am not good with __emotional__  things, like comforting others, but I did not want t leave you alone, and I was already planning on coming here anyway. It felt only logical to bring you along.”

He sounded almost nervous by the time he’d finished his sentence. It was hidden behind such a layer of impassiveness that Virgil almost missed it, would never have noticed it if he’d never hidden his own uncertainty the exact same way, but it was still there. Somehow, it was almost comforting — someone like Logan having something in common with someone like him.

“I… thank you,” Virgil said, when the words he’d wanted to say — __I understand, I get it__  — got caught in his throat. Logan made a noise in the back of his throat, and then lifted his hand, pointing upwards.

“That is Aquila,” he said, shifting his finger from one star to another in a celestial game of connect-the-dots. Virgil followed his gaze, allowing his soft voice to carve an eagle from the stars above. “In ancient Greek mythology, it was known as the eagle that carried the god Zeus’ thunderbolts.”

And so it went. Logan’s voice was clear and tranquil, buzzing with an undercurrent of pride at his knowledge, and Virgil listened with rapt attention to the stories of Draco and Andromeda, Pisces and Pegasus — not even noticing when the tugging in his stomach faded to nothingness, when the tingling in his fingers became nothing more than a mere tickle, and when his brain, for the first time, stopped __thinking__  and merely listened.

It was nearly three AM by the time Logan finally stood, stretched, and offered Virgil his hand. He’d nearly talked himself hoarse, growing more and more excited as he’d shared the cosmos with Virgil, and while his excitement had grown, Virgil’s fear had shrank.

It was… strange. Confusing, to say the least, to be free of __bad__  thoughts; his mind too full of eagles and dolphins and dragons, stars and the stories behind them, to even begin to doubt Logan’s kindness, or any of the kindness he’d been shown since Roman had first burst down his door.

“Thank you,” he said again, when they’d walked back into the house and now stood at their opposite doors. Logan nodded firmly, not quite smiling but not frowning either, a familiar look in his eyes that Virgil couldn’t exactly place.

“You’re welcome, Virgil. Goodnight.” He nodded once more and walked into his room, his door closing behind him with a soft click. Virgil lingered in the hallway for a moment, his hand on his door handle, and then he let out a soft breath and went into his room.

He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.


	10. An Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

It was on swift, wintry wings that autumn flew in; summer drawing to a close one day in late august, its sunshine-yellow giving way to the golden-orange of fall. The world was changing around them, becoming something entirely new.

And Virgil? He was changing, too. It had been weeks since they’d escaped Obscura Virtute, weeks since he’d once again felt the sun on his skin; and he found it hard __not__ to change, when surrounded by people who seemed to love him __despite__  his flaws, __despite__  the shadows, and when surrounded by a world that didn’t punish you for existing.

He still wasn’t sure what to think of these people — Thomas, who was as kind as he was eccentric, and always fun to be around; Logan, who wasn’t good with people but could talk your ear off about astronomy if you only gave him the chance (and Virgil was never one to stop him); and Roman, who was the most __extra__  person Virgil had ever met, who never missed a chance to break into song and could sometimes be a __bit__  much, but who had a heart of gold and a smile of sunshine — but he did know that he cared about them.

And for some __god-forsaken__  reason, they cared about him.

And then there was Patton. Patton, who was warmth and sunshine and smiles, Patton who was hot chocolate on the cold nights and a warm hand in his, Patton who made his heart feel full to bursting with... happiness. And that was what it was: happiness, true and good and __real__ , something he never thought he’d have a chance to feel again.

He didn’t deserve this. He knew that. But he __had__  it, and he’d be __damned__  if he let it get away.

 

 

 

It’s a late morning in September when this story continues, on a back porch overlooking a field of oranges and yellows, a cup of cocoa clutched in one hand and Patton’s hand curled around the other. It’s a late morning in September when Roman approaches him, bravery in the royal tilt of his smile and excitement in the lilt of his voice.

It’s a late morning in September when Virgil stands, follows Roman out into the field, and unknowingly destroys __everything.__

“Alright!” Roman clapped his hands together eagerly, standing tall and proud among the swaying yellow grass. “We’ll start simple, alright? Just a few training exercises. We’ll get to the __real__  combat later.”

“O-Okay,” Virgil said, and then swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and trying his best to steel himself. His stomach churned with anxiety, his mind racing with __bad__  thoughts — __this isn’t a good idea, you’ll be hurt, you’ll hurt someone and then they’ll know how bad you are this is wrong wrong wrong —__  but he forcefully shoved them away, reminding himself silently of how much Roman wanted this.

 _ _Nothing will go wrong,__  he told himself, taking another calming breath. __It’s gonna be fine.__

“Hmm… We’ll start with defense, I suppose. That’s important.” He shifted into a combat position, his hands curling into fists by his sides, and Virgil’s heart spurred into panicked motion. “I’ll come at you with a quick attack. Try to defend yourself with your shadows.”

And suddenly he was lunging, his hand drawn back into a fist, and Virgil scrambled backwards, his hands flying up to protect himself — and a wall of impassible darkness rose to defend him, curling around him like a shield woven straight from the void. Roman stopped just before his fist slammed into the wall of shadows, one eyebrow quirking up. He looked impressed.

“Good job, Peter Panic,” he remarked, his tone light and excited, and Virgil willed the shadows away, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy. Something warm tickled in his chest at the praise. “Are you alright to keep going?” Roman asked, noticing his heavy, almost panicked breathing.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine.” He nodded to himself once, sharply, casting a quick glance over to their audience of one. Patton held up a cheerful thumbs-up when he noticed Virgil looking, his smile growing bright and sincere, and __maybe__  Virgil’s heart began to flutter at the sight, but he ignored it.

“Brilliant!” Suddenly there was a fist in his face, and he only just managed to block it, his reflexes kicking in and a wall of shadows building itself before him. But he barely had time to take a breath before Roman was attacking again, dodging around the small shield; his kick was fast and Virgil couldn’t dodge it. He was sent stumbling backwards, pain blooming on his side.

“Sorry!”

He only waited until Virgil was steady on his feet again before he came lunging again, his fist drawn back and ready to strike, and Virgil thrust his hand forward, the shadows wrapped likes snakes around his arm darting forward and pushing his eager trainer backwards. For a moment he panicked, his blood running cold; __you’ve hurt him, you’ve hurt him,__  his mind chanted, and the shadows wavered like smoke in the wind as his will dissipated, but then —

“Wonderful!” Roman grinned proudly, regaining his balance and shifting back into a battle stance. “That was a good move, Virge. Keep it up!”

“Wait, you’re… you’re not mad?” Virgil’s confidence wavered and he took a step back, pale with trepidation; but Roman only shook his head, his smile never fading, his eyes aglow with the thrill of battle.

“Mad? Why should I be mad? You’re getting the hang of combat quite nicely, my young padawan! It makes my job a lot easier!” He shifted, ready to spring forward, his grin growing. “Think fast!”

Virgil barely managed to dodge the quick punch, swirling around and sending a volley of shadows towards Roman in a moment of pure instinct, a fearful cry flying from his throat. They did their job nicely; Roman was sent flying backwards, barely able to catch his balance before he fell to the ground. But he was back on his feet in an instant, and the battle continued.

Virgil was rusty and awkward in battle; his shadows only as strong as his fear allowed them to be, his movements quick and panicked as he dodged and attacked — but he was holding his own against Roman, and the other’s attacks hardly ever hit their mark. The battle became quicker still, Roman’s attacks faster, his eyes alight with excitement.

 _ _Holy shit,__  Virgil thought with every attack he dodged. __Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.__  His instinct had taken over, fight-or-flight simply becoming __fight, survive, don’t get hurt don’t get hurt don’t get hurt!__

And then Roman lunged and Virgil blocked, his wall of shadows growing so tall, so __dark__ , sucking the light from the world around them, and he thrust his hands forward in a moment of adrenaline, the wall jerking forward — and Roman was sent flying. He slammed into one of the trees dotting the field, slumping limply to the ground, and Virgil’s hands flew to his mouth as shards of horror pierced through his body.

__You screwed up you screwed up you screwed up —_ _

He ran, his legs carrying him towards the tree, towards __Roman__ ; even as his mind screamed, pleaded with him to run the other way, to get out of there.

__They’ll hate you they’ll hate you you’ve hurt him what have you_ _ **_**_done —_ ** _ **

He was unconscious, slumped across the ground, empty and injured and __it’s his fault, all his fault;__  and suddenly he’s seeing a memory of a dream from weeks ago, of Roman’s dead body lying across the ground, __his fault his fault his fault —__

__“You’re nothing but a monster.”_ _

He took one shaking step back, and then another, wrenching away as Patton tried to set a hand on his shoulder. He could hear a familiar scream in the back of his mind — __Timmy Williams, your fault, you hurt him, all your fault —__ as Patton made a sympathetic face and kneeled down, placing his hands gently atop Roman’s chest, his face knotted with worry. A moment later he was stirring, groaning as if waking from a nap.

“Wha… Virgil? What happened?”

He ran.

 

 

 

An hour later found him pacing his room anxiously, running his hands through his hair over and over as his mind replayed the scene, replayed his __mistake.__  “It’s my fault,” he murmured to himself, as the image of Roman slamming into the tree played through his mind like a broken record, __again and again and again and again.__  “It’s my fault.”

 _ _They’re going to hate you now,__  his mind told him, and it was right, oh __god__  was it right, how could they not hate him after what he’d done? He’d gotten a taste of freedom, a hint of something he didn’t deserve, and he’d __ruined__  it! He’d hurt someone who’d trust him!

“Idiot,” he muttered, digging his fingernails so forcefully into the skin of his palms that droplets of blood began to run down his hands. “Idiot, idiot, __idiot —”__

“Virgil?”

He yelped, backpedaling away from the person coming into his room, who was surely there to hurt him or kick him out or do something, __something bad, because he deserved it.__  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault but I didn’t mean to! I tried to warn you, I’m bad, I’m sorry!” he rambled, terrified, the shadows around him swirling faster and faster.

“Calm down, it’s perfectly alright. Roman is fine, there’s no harm done. Calm down.” That was Logan, it had to be Logan, so why wasn’t he angry. Virgil deserved __anger, he deserved hatred, he didn’t deserve this.__

“N-No, there’s harm done, I hurt him! It’s my fault! Why aren’t you angry?” He finally looked up at Logan, his face red and streaked with tears. Logan seemed impassive, his face impossibly calm, his eyes impossibly unreadable.

“There is no reason to be angry, Virgil. It would be illogical. Roman had been healed, and he’s perfectly fine. He does not blame you, and neither do I.”

“No! No, __stop it, I know you’re angry!__ You — you __have__  to be!” His voice was getting higher, louder; cracking with anger at himself and at the world. “This is my fault! I-I’m not good, I told you! I’m a __monster!”__

Logan’s hands twitched by his sides, his eyebrows furrowing. “Your abilities are powerful, I will admit. However, it is not your fault that Roman was injured today. He simply pushed you too far. That’s all.”

Virgil reeled, his eyes wide, his vision swimming. __“No!__  You don’t get it, __you don’t get it!__ It’s __my fault,__ Logan! I’ve hurt people before and now I’m hurting people again and I __can’t stop!__  The shadows around good! __You’re wrong!”__

He took a shuddering breath and continued, each and every worry spilling out of him as though he’d been cut open, as though he’d been shattered into pieces, his insides exposed for all the world to see.

“My powers don’t have a ‘shut-off,’ Logan! I can’t stop them! No matter what I do, they won’t go away! And they’re not __good, they’re not okay, I’m not okay!”__

“Virgil, please. Calm down —”

 _ _“Don’t tell me to calm down!”__  he cried, he screamed, his voice hoarse and his chest aching, the shadows around him swirling ever faster. Logan took a step forward and Virgil took one back, his face shining with tears, his eyes wide and fearful, __hateful__.

“This isn’t your fault!” Something in Logan’s calm exterior seemed to break a little; there was something hidden in the gray of his eyes as they burned with righteous anger. “This pain you’re feeling is nothing more than a collection of everything the Doctor has done to you! It’s not your fault! No one blames you!”

 _ _“Shut up!”__  Virgil yelled, his fingers knotting into his hair as he shrank into himself. “Stop trying to tell me I’m good! Stop trying to tell me I’m okay! I’m __not! And you don’t understand!”__

Logan took a breath, his hands twitching by his sides, his fingers curling as though something Virgil said had struck a chord with him. He took a deep, nearly-shaking breath, his fingers curling and uncurling by his sides. But Virgil wasn’t done.

“You don’t understand? You __don’t!__  You act all high and mighty and __logical__  but you __don’t know what I’ve been through! You have no idea what he did to me! Stop trying to pretend you do!”__

“I don’t understand?” Logan’s voice was cool, dangerous ice; a contrast to the red-hot anger in his eyes, coursing beneath the steely gray of his irises. “You are acting like the world revolves around __you__ , like every small thing you do will bring the universe crashing down around us! It is not all about you.”

He drew himself up to his full height, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “You’re not the only one he’s hurt. But __I__  don’t understand? You don’t know __anything__ , Virgil.”

He turned and walked from the room, and silence fell over Virgil. He sobbed, once, twice — his chest burning, aching with wracking sobs, his face stinging where the tears carved their mark into his skin. He fell to his knees and the shadows dissipated around him, the world growing silent, empty.

And he was alone once more.

 


	11. Apologies

Logan was gone.

A hour had passed since the argument but Virgil still held it fresh in his mind; a wound, still bleeding within him, bleeding out and taking his life with it. “Oh, __Virgil,”__  Patton said said when he’d found him, pity in his voice that VIrgil __didn’t deserve didn’t deserve didn’t deserve.__

Logan was gone.

It was only Patton’s reassurances, the soft determination in his voice, that finally got Virgil to stand; and they ventured downstairs when Virgil felt he could hide no longer, felt he had to face whatever punishment they held for him. And it was downstairs that he received news worse than any punishment:

__Logan was gone._ _

His chair was blindingly empty, his book left abandoned on the coffee table; and it was __his fault his fault his fault__. He’d taken this perfect family and torn it apart at the seam — taken this perfect life and __ruined__  it. The Doctor, for all his faults, had been right all along. He was a __monster.__

“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about it too much,” Roman said as they ate (or, rather, while Virgil pushed the food around his plate, too sick to eat). “It’s alright. He’s only gone out for some air. He does this every time he gets into an argument with someone!”

On Roman’s other side, Thomas chuckled as he poured gravy over his potatoes. “Yeah, one time I pointed out he misused a word and he stormed out and got lost in the woods. We thought he’d gotten kidnapped or something!”

“Pfft, I remember that!” Suddenly Talyn was smiling, their eyes lighting up. “He came back all covered in leaves and wouldn’t speak to anyone for, like, three hours. I took pictures!” They pulled out their phone and began scrolling through rows of pictures, their mouth quirked in a mischievous grin.

But Virgil couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes when they showed him the pictures, couldn’t bring himself to speak at all, or touch the food on his plate. His stomach rolled with guilt, his hands clenching and unclenched into nervous fists by his sides. He caught Patton giving him worried glances and looked away, his face burning with shame.

__You fault your fault your fault._ _

It had begun to rain by the time dinner was over; droplets of cold, autumn rain lashed against the window and raced to the bottom, reflecting the lamp’s golden glow through the window. Virgil sat in the corner of the living room, curled up against the window, watching as the sky cried around him and feeling like he could do the same. His mind replayed the argument over and over; Logan’s looked of cold fury was etched deeper into his mind than anything else.

__‘You’re not the only one he’s hurt. But I don’t understand? You don’t know anything, Virgil.’_ _

He curled deeper into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as tears threatened to fall again. Cold horror bloomed in his gut as he realized just how badly he’d messed up, how badly he’d __ruined__  everything. How could Logan ever forgive him?

“You alright?”

A sudden figure appeared beside him, carrying two steaming mugs and wearing a bright, if concerned smile. He raised an eyebrow as Virgil backpedaled, his eyes going wide.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted, louder than he’d meant to — and then suddenly it was all spilling out. “It’s my fault, I hurt you __and__  Logan and probably everyone else and it’s my fault, and — and I didn’t — I didn’t __realize, but I hurt him and it’s my fault, and —”__

Roman frowned, setting down the cups and putting his hands on his hips. “There is no need to apologize, panic at the __everywhere.__  It’s alright. If anything, __I__  should apologize.”

“But —” He stopped, taking a shaking breath. “Why isn’t anyone angry?” he asked, and his voice broke.

“Virgil…” He sighed, sitting down cross-legged before Virgil and pushing his princely swoop of hair out of his face. __“I__  am the one that pushed you too far today. I cannot blame you for getting swept up in the heat of battle! I’d be surprised if you __hadn’t__  gotten excited! I am quite the trainer, after all.”

He reached up and grabbed the mugs, offering one to Virgil. The scent of the steaming cocoa, swirled with vanilla cream, made his stomach growl.

“I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Pocket Protector, but I’m sure he’s not __that__  angry. He’ll blow off steam and be back before you know it! No harm done.”

There was that phrase again: __no harm done.__  It made Virgil’s stomach turn. How could they say that so easily? __Harm__  was everything Virgil did, everything Virgil __was__. He shook his head silently, taking the cup only so Roman wouldn’t have to hold it any longer, and averted his gaze to the floor.

“He… tried to calm me down.” He let out a breath, and the steam trailing from the mug wavered. __He only tried to help!__  his mind reminded him, almost tauntingly; __he only tried to help and all you did was hurt!__  “But I — I sorta — I got sorta __mad.”__

Roman quirked an eyebrow. Virgil shook his head, spluttering.

“W-Well, no, I didn’t get __mad,__ I mean —” He stopped and took a shaking breath, the cocoa in his mug sloshing as his hands trembled. “I __messed up__  today, Roman. And he wouldn’t acknowledge it! At all! He just kept saying that ‘it’s fine, it would be illogical to be angry, blah blah blah.’”

Roman’s lips twitched at the horrible impression, though his eyebrows furrowed. Virgil continued, unable to meet Roman’s eyes, his face burning.

“A-And then we started… yelling… and I-I said some things and he said something about how the world doesn’t revolve around me and then —”

__‘You’re not the only one he’s hurt.”_ _

He winced at the memory, at Logan’s words, the coldness in his voice. And the look in his eyes… it reminded Virgil of something. Of the look in his __own__  eyes, every time he glanced in a mirror. He shuddered, finally taking a sip of the cocoa as Roman mulled over what he’d heard.

“Was… Did… Did the Doctor hurt Logan?” the name hurt to say, dredged up memories of cruelty and tests and a room made entirely of white. __No, no, no,__  his mind chanted. __Don’t ask that! He’s only just tolerating you to be polite, you’re going too far, no, no, no —__

Roman let out a sigh, and suddenly he was the one avoiding the other’s gaze, instead staring into the depths of his cocoa like it held all the answers. Suddenly the brave prince Virgil had known was gone, replaced by someone unsure, someone who’d faced pain just as he had. Worry weighed on Roman’s shoulders.

“Logan was the Doctor’s first __patient__ , Virgil.”

__Oh._ _

__Oh god._ _

His eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp, pained breath, his heart suddenly forgetting how to beat. The Doctor had hurt Virgil, of course — but Logan had been the __first__  to feel that pain, the very first to have everything taken away from him.

“I — I didn’t —” How young had Logan been when the Doctor had taken him? How many years had he suffered. __He was right: Virgil was stuck inside his own head, his own problems.__ How could he not have noticed? “I —”

 _ _Slam!__  The front door swung open and crashed against the wall with a deafening bang. Virgil jumped, lukewarm cocoa sloshing across his front, and Roman let out a very un-princely scream.

“Help!”

A young boy stumbled into the living room. Virgil recognized him as Steven, another one of Thomas’ housemates. He looked __awful__  — his clothes torn and bloodied, his left eye bruised and swollen shut and his right leaking tears.

“Steven?” Thomas raced into the room at the sound, Talyn and Joan right on his heels. Rose, Quinn and Celeste peeked in from the kitchen, their eyes wide and fearful. “Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I — He —” He sobbed, rubbing his hands over his eyes to try to stop the tears from falling. Virgil braced himself against the wall, panic seeping into his lungs.

“We were — Logan said — he brought me out on a mission, he said y-you said we had to go, and  — and —”

He broke down sobbing again, his small frame trembling. Thomas looked horrified.

“Steven, what happened?”

 _ _“Is Logan okay?”__ Roman asked, his face pale with fear as he got to his feet. __“Is he okay?”__

Steven shook his head. “He — The Doctor’s got him.”

And the world shattered around Virgil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the climax! We're almost to the end!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the wait for this one. To be honest, it literally kicked my butt. I hate writing slow scenes like this; I just wanted to get to the action! But I did it, and here it is. Hope you enjoy!


	12. A Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this one! I think this is probably the fastest update I've ever done, tbh.... I'm super excited to get to the final battle! Anyway, enjoy!

_“We have to go after him!”_

“Roman, it’s too risky! We need a plan first!”

Downstairs, the argument raged; and upstairs, Virgil paced. He paced and paced and paced, and panicked and panicked and panicked — each breath a shard of glass through his lungs, each through a dagger through his heart, each moment passing with the pain of a thousand wounds. Steven’s injuries were seared into his mind’s eye; __how badly hurt was Logan, who hadn’t been able to escape?__

It wasn’t fair. __It wasn’t fair.__  Why was he allowed to be __here,__  pacing and panicking and thinking and breathing? Why was __he__  allowed to do that, when __Logan__  — Logan could be out __there__ , doing none of those things? __Oh god,__  he thought, choking on another sob. __He could be dead.__

He heard a cry of frustration from downstairs and paused in his pacing, listening carefully. They’d been arguing for what seemed like forever; Roman wanting desperately to go out in search of his boyfriend, to wreak havoc on the Doctor for daring to so much as __touch__  Logan — and Thomas did not.

“Roman, please just think! He’s using Logan as __bait,__ this is what he wants! It won’t do Logan any good to have us all captured!” That was Joan. They’d taken Thomas’ side, and the role of Logical Strategist in Logan’s absence.

“We need to stop arguing and come up with a plan!” Thomas added.

Virgil could practically _ _hear__  Roman pacing, panicking; his hands flying into motion as he convinced himself that he should be doing __more__ , as his body tried to fly into action. And Virgil felt the same way, of course he did, but...

 _ _God,__  he didn’t know who to agree with. He wanted to be __out there__  with Logan, to protect him, but to do so would be to play into the hands of the one who’d hurt him the most. To do so would be to face __him.__

His mind flashed with memories; of a room of all white and a table of cold metal, of syringes and knives and computers and tests, of cold blue eyes and an empty smile. He shivered, letting out another sob, stifled behind his hand over his mouth.

 _ _Weak,__  his mind spat. __Useless. Pathetic. You couldn’t protect him.__

He heard another yell, and then stomping footsteps. Finally, Roman’s door slammed across the hallway, the jarring sound echoing throughout the house. And through the doors, Virgil could hear something truly horrible: awful, heartbroken sobbing.

__You couldn’t protect them and now Logan’s gone. It’s all your fault._ _

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

And he broke down crying once more, the shadows around him growing dark, darker, yet darker.

 

 

It was half-past one in the morning when Virgil heard footsteps and hushed voices outside of his door.

He hadn’t paused once in his pacing and his panicking; too caught up in his thoughts to even attempt sleep, trapped in an endless spiral of __your fault your fault your fault.__  He peeked through the door and the darkness beyond it, and saw Roman striding angrily down the hall, Steven hurrying along in his wake.

His mouth moved before he could stop it. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice jarringly loud against the silence of the night. Roman froze and whirled around, gasping sharply, and Steven jumped in shock, glancing at him with wide, guilty eyes.

“We’re… uh…” Roman, for all he claimed to be an amazing actor, was too shocked to come up with an excuse. Steven stepped forward, pushing brown hair out of his face.

“We’re just going for a walk, Virgil. Don’t worry, okay?” His face softened reassuringly. Virgil didn’t buy it for a minute.

“A walk,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow, “at one in the morning?”

“Yes…” Steven began slowly, but Roman cut him off, holding one hand up.

“Hold on, Stevie Wonder. Perhaps we could use his help…?” Roman gazed at Virgil thoughtfully, his eyebrows furrowed. “We’re going out to confront that foul Doctor and save my beloved!”

And __that__  was exactly what Virgil was afraid of. His face darkened and he shook his head, a terrible feeling nestling in the pit of his stomach.

 _ _“No.__  You heard Thomas earlier! It’s too dangerous! I — uh, w-we can’t lose you too!” He kept his tone hushed, and furious whisper, and Roman rolled his eyes. The sick feeling in Virgil’s gut got worse.

“Oh come now, Peter Panic, surely __you__  don’t want to leave Logan all alone out there! We’ve got a plan. Steven knows where the Doctor is, so he’s going to bring me to him, and as the most powerful member of our team, __I__  shall finally bring about that horrible man’s demise. “He didn’t look excited at all at the prospect; his eyes shone with grim determination, his hands tightening into fists at mentioning Logan’s name. “We could use your help, if you’re up for it?”

And Virgil knew in that moment that there would be no stopping Roman. He let out a shaking sigh, catching Steven’s guilty look with an annoyed one of his own.

“S-Sorry, Virgil,” Steven said, rubbing at his still-slightly-bruised left eye. “This… This is all my fault. I __need__  to fix it. Y-You can’t stop up.”

 _ _No,__  he thought. __It’s my fault. Please don’t blame yourself.__ But outwardly he sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, and pushed onwards even as his voice threatened to give out. “Then… Then I’m coming with.”

 _ _Logan was his fault. Logan was his fault and now he was gone; he couldn’t let Roman and Steven disappear the same way.__ So when Roman asked if he was sure, he nodded, even as his hands shook and his stomach rolled. He swallowed his fear as he followed Roman and Steven out of the house.

Only to find Patton waiting for them on the front porch.

“I’m coming too!” he declared, after admitting that he’d heard Roman and Steven planning earlier that day. He shoved his glasses further up his nose and tried to look as fierce as possible in his baby-blue pajamas, his eyes shining with determination.

Virgil’s heart, for a moment, forgot how to work. “Patton, no, you can’t,” he tried to say, but his voice stuttered and crackled and broke. __He couldn’t lose Patton. He loved Roman and Logan and Steven and the rest and he couldn’t bear to lose them, but — Patton was__ Patton, _ _and he couldn’t lose that.__

“Actually…” Roman began, one eyebrow raised in thought, and in that moment Virgil had never wanted to strangle him more. Roman cast a glance to Virgil’s murderous expression, and his face softened. “Think about it, Virgil. He can __heal__  us. Even if the Doctor does manage to get the best of me — yes, I know, it seems unlikely, but bear with me here — Pat can heal me! There’s no way we could lose!”

“That’s what I was thinkin’!” Patton said with a proud — if fearful, if shaky — grin. Suddenly, it faded, and he glanced vulnerably at each of them in turn, his eyes glimmering. “I… I love you guys! I couldn’t take it if I lose you! And I love Logan, too, so I’m gonna help rescue him!”

The floor had dropped beneath Virgil’s feet and he was floating off into nothingness, unable to breathe, unable to think beyond __Patton’s coming, Patton’s gonna be In danger, Patton’s gonna die, your fault your fault your fault —__ but he knew there was no stopping a determined Patton, especially if that determination stemmed from Love.

Patton weaved his hand through Virgil’s, offering a reassuring smile. Instantly, his touch brought warmth, and the taste of chocolate to Virgil’s mouth. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo! We’ve got this. I’ll protect you!”

 _ _No!__  he thought frantically. __No no no, I’m supposed to protect you, if you get hurt it’ll be my fault!__  But he couldn’t speak to voice his concerns, and only nodded, squeezing Patton’s hand tightly.

“Alright,” Steven breathed, a strange look in his eyes. “Time to fix my mistakes.”

And off into the night they went.


	13. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the wait for this chapter! Writer's block is not fun, especially when you have deadlines to meet. But! I finished it! And I'm sorta proud of how it came out, too!
> 
> Slight warnings for this chapter: first off, deceit is gonna be in this one. He's got a small role, but if he makes you uncomfortable, I suggest reading something else. Second off, pretty major character death, mentions of blood and injuries, and panic attacks. We're nearing the final battle; it's getting pretty intense! Oof, and also some profanity. Nothing too bad, but still.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! (and please don't hate me for the angst that's coming ahahfdfjsklgdjsf)

_They were going to die._

The car moved silently down the dark, winding road; its passengers barely daring to talk, or even to __breathe,__  their over-confidence draining into something more akin to grim determination. It was as Virgil sat in the backseat, jostled by the car’s gentle rocking and feeling very close to throwing up, that he knew it to be true.

__They were going to die._ _

Patton’s hand was in his, and there were so many things Virgil wanted to say, so many truths he’d never gotten to tell him — __thank you for taking care of me, even though I didn’t deserve it; thank you for being such a good friend, even though you deserve better; I love you, even though I shouldn’t —__  but the words wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he tried.

Perhaps is was some undying hope, left among the chaotic panic within him? __I refuse to acknowledge that this could be the end!__  it said as it stopped his words. __We will survive!__

But that hope, however undying, was foolish. They were going to die, it was as simple as that. And in way, Virgil was __already__  dying; growing closer and closer to the one who could destroy them all, who could end __everything.__  In the distance, he was a building lit with the bright-white of fluorescent streetlamps and surrounded by chain-link gates, and his heart, for a moment, forgot how to beat.

His hand tightened around Patton’s.

__They were going to die._ _

“Stay close to me,” Roman said as they climbed out of the car, parked among the trees on the side of the road. His gusto was gone, his over-confident zeal dissipated into the darkness of the night, and anger had taken its place. His face was hardened like stone, his eyes glinting with fury, his hands sparking with furious red flames by his sides.

And that, at least, was one thing Virgil could take some comfort in: the Doctor may kill them, but Roman was going to give him __hell__  first.

“Don’t stop for anything,” Roman continued. “We get in, search for Logan, and get out. If we don’t find him within ten minutes…”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

“We’ll find him,” Steven said, a strange look on his face. In the light from the Doctor’s lab, his eyes seemed to glow ethereally golden, as the streetlamps caught each and every fleck of yellow amongst the chocolate brown of his eyes. He looked like an angel, ready to reap vengeance on all who had hurt his friends.

He looked so __confident.__

Virgil took a deep breath, and tried to feel the same way.

He could still remember the day he’d __escaped__  this nightmare; the sun on his skin and the tears on his face, the freedom, __invigorating,__ in his lungs. That day was bright, shining with hope, with __freedom.__

But now? Now was dark and horrible, now was shadows throughout the beams of horribly bright light, now was trepidation in the pit of Virgil’s stomach and Patton’s hand, so __temporary__ , in his. He kept his shadows close, focusing on keeping the tugging in his stomach painfully present, and they coiled around his arms like little black snakes and gathered protectively around his feet.

At least __they’d__  be able to protect his family, for however long they lasted. Still, though, he knew it wouldn’t do much good. After all, there was no avoiding it. They were going to die.

From the outside, the lab didn’t look like much more than another abandoned building left to rot among Florida’s swamps; its walls were whitewashed but had faded with age, and overgrown grass swayed all around the building, the last dying remnant’s of summer’s flowers swaying with it. From the outside, the lab looked halfway normal.

Virgil felt sick just looking at the place.

Roman pushed open the doors with a grunt and Virgil’s shadows poured into the room — searching, fearfully, for anything that might be there. But the darkness turned up nothing; no guards came rushing into the room with their weapons drawn, no Doctor turned the corner, __nothing.__  It was almost unsettling, in a way, to see the hallway so __empty__  after a lifetime of seeing it lined with guards.

 _ _It’s a trap,__  his mind whispered. __You’re going to die.__

“Come on.” Roman took the lead, looking pale as a ghost beneath the flickering lights, his voice echoing eerily against the silence of Obscura Virtute. Virgil stayed near the back of the group as they made their way through the hallways, checking each and every cell and finding them all empty.

There was a bad taste in his mouth. He could __hear__  the Doctor, could feel his ice-cold touch on his skin. His breathing quickened as he stumbled after the others; he suddenly realized that the bad taste in his mouth was blood and then realized that he was biting down on his tongue. His hands twitched into fists, his nails drawing blood from his palms.

 _ _Stop it,__  he told himself firmly, when the Doctor’s voice crept deep into his mind and his hand tightened around Virgil’s lungs. __Stop it you need to focus stop it stop it stop it —__

There it was.

They’d turned a corner and suddenly Patton had stopped, and Virgil stopped too because __there it was.__  The doorway was marred with ash, the door itself lying on the floor in the center of the room, their beds mussed and bits of wall scattered around the room.

Virgil froze. Patton’s breath hitched in his throat. And suddenly Virgil was remembering every __bit__  of pain, every __moment__ he’d spent hurting because of something out of his control; and suddenly his chest was tight with rage, with panic, with __pain;__  and suddenly he couldn’t see through the blind fury rushing through him, nor breathe through the lump in his throat.

Roman ushered them away quickly, his face dark, steady with resolve. __We’ll get him__ , his expression seemed to say, the words written into the lines on his forehead, the green of his eyes.

__We’ll get him._ _

Every room was empty, every hallway silent, and their hearts sank deeper with every room found abandoned, their hopes dashed with every moment they hadn’t found Logan. Roman’s self-imposed deadline loomed near; ten minutes, and then that’s it. Ten minutes, and then…

They’d have to leave Logan behind.

 _ _He’s gone,__  Virgil’s mind taunted, with every door that opened to reveal nothing. __He’s gone, he’s gone, the Doctor took his and you’re never going to see him again and it’s your fault your fault your fault —__

He gasped, his thoughts coming to a halt.

They’d turned a corner, moving quickly in their search, but now they stopped to regard the door before them, the only one in the hallway. It was tall, taller than any other door in the building, and it gleamed brighter than all the rest. __“Oh god,”__  Virgil murmured, near-silent, his skin burning with bruises that weren’t there.

“Virgil…” Roman trailed off, his brow furrowing in worry, the fury slipping from his face. “I… this is…. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t — I shouldn’t have brought you here. __Either__  of you.” Guilt replaced the worry and he set a gentle hand on Patton’s shoulder, but Patton barely seemed to noticed, his eyes swimming with fear as he gazed at the door. “It was selfish of me. We… I’m taking you home.”

And in doing so, he was giving up on Logan. __Your fault your fault your fault,__  his mind yelled, __screamed__ , as his shadows swirled around his feet. “N-No,” he managed to say through the guilt clogging his throat. “That’s not — we __can’t__  —”

 _ _God,__  he was such a __coward.__  He gripped at the hem of his shirt, worrying it with his fingers, swallowing hard as his legs shook beneath him. __He couldn’t breathe.__

There was __something__  in Steven’s expression as he gazed at the door; his hands curled into fists by his sides, and his gaze shifted to Roman, his eyebrows furrowing. “Checking one more room __won’t__  hurt us, Roman. Logan could be in there!”

“But —”

“I’m sure there’s nothing dangerous in there. It wouldn’t hurt to check. You don’t wanna leave Logan behind, right?”

Virgil forced his fear back down, making the thought of Logan so strong in his mind that he could think of nothing else. He __had__  to save him. It was his fault he’d gotten kidnapped in the first place! “Roman, it’s… it’s okay. I’m the one who agreed to — to come with. Logan could be in there, w-we need to check.”

Patton’s eyes were shining with tears and his hands shook by his sides, but he nodded in agreement, his hair flopping down into his face and getting caught in the tear-tracks along his cheeks. “Y-Yeah, w-we… we came to __help!”__  he said as he brushed the hair away, his grin shaky but cheerful nonetheless.

“See? It’ll be fine, Roman. We __need__  to save him.” Steven’s words spurred Roman into action; he nodded, sharply, and started down the hallway, his pace quick. Flames danced across his hands in a red-hot frenzy, illuminating Roman in flickering red light.

The door opened with an all-too-familiar creak, and suddenly Virgil was in another time, his hands cuffed behind his back and two guards walking before him, leading him to the table, to the __tests__. The Doctor would be in any moment, and then —

 _ _No.__  He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present as they filed into the big room. It wasn’t like that anymore. He wouldn’t allow himself to be tested on again. __It’ll be fine,__  he told himself firmly. __It’ll be —__

 _ _“Oh my god, Logan!”__  Roman’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up as Roman rushed towards the table; and it was then that Virgil finally noticed that it was __occupied.__  “Oh my — oh my god, you’re — __what did he do to you?”__  

Logan didn’t answer. He was unconscious. He laid limp against the table, his glasses askew on his face, his pale skin marred with bruises and deep, bloodied cuts. Four silver cuffs kept him stuck to the table, glinting hideously in the light.

Virgil’s hand clamped over his mouth and he stumbled backwards, tears springing to his eyes. Patton rushed forward with a cry, setting his hands down on Logan’s chest and closing his eyes. The bruises across his skin began to fade, his cuts mending themselves, but still he didn’t wake.

“Thank you,” Roman said to Patton when he’d finished healing, his face pale and his voice heavy with guilt. He extinguished one hand and gently ran it through Logan’s mussed hair, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to kill __him,”__  he promised as he leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on Logan’s lips.

“We should — let’s go,” Virgil managed to stutter, his voice halting and terrified as he regarded Logan’s limp form. __At least he isn’t dead,__  his mind reminded him in a startling moment of kindness as Roman set to work melting Logan’s cuffs away.

“He’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” Patton said as Roman hefted Logan into his arms, bridal-style. “He wasn’t hurt too badly! He’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m coming back!” Roman declared to the empty room, his voice shaking with rage. “I know you’re listening, you foul, evil demon! I’m coming back, and I’m going to __kill__  you!”

“Why wait?”

Steven stood in front of the door. He tilted his head to one side, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

“Steven…?” Roman shook his head. “Ugh, we don’t have time for your foolishness, Stevie Wonder. We need to get Lo home.”

“Coming back would take __so__  much time. Why not just face him now?”

Something truly horrible dawned on Virgil when he realized that it wasn’t the lights making Steven’s eyes glow.

“Steven, what are you talking about, kiddo?” Patton asked, and __oh god, he didn’t get it, they weren’t understanding, oh no —__

“You get what I’m saying, right, Virgil?” Steven turned to him, and his gaze bore holes into Virgil’s head; and suddenly all he could see was the sickly yellow of his eyes, and all he could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears. He fell to his knees as pain exploded throughout his body, his strength leaving him in one fell swoop, his shadows disappearing.

And then something was wrapping around him, tendrils that lifted him into the air and tangled around him like ropes. He blinked until his vision cleared, his head pounding with each heartbeat, and his blood ran cold.

Steven was using __his__  shadows.

“What the hell are you doing?” Roman demanded, crying out as Logan was torn from his arms, carried back to the table by the yellowish-black shadows. __“Give him back! I’ll kill you! I’ll —”__  He struggled in vain against the shadows as they tightened around him, his face screwing up in pain,

“Oh, I’d __love__  to do that, really.” Steven pushed his brown hair out of his face, his smile hideous, sickly-sweet. “But, you see, I have orders not to.”

“Steven, how — __how could you?”__  Patton cried out as the shadows tightened their hold on him, Virgil struggled against his own bonds, against his own shadows, unable to breathe or think or move through the panic tying him up inside.

“Easily!” Steven chuckled. “Virgil, I __love__  your powers. Thanks for letting me use them!”

 _ _“Fuck you!”__  Virgil spat, trying desperately to regain control of the darkness. But it was no use; his shadows were no longer his. He was __powerless.__

“Oh, Virgil,” said a voice, so familiar and so __terrifying__  that Virgil nearly threw up. “Such profanity! Honestly, it’s like I never taught you anything.”

 _ _He__  strode into the room, his suit impeccable, his hair neatly brushed, his face linked and hideously handsome, his blue eyes twinkling malevolently behind his glasses. “Consider me surprised, you guys. I really didn’t think you’d fall for this! I guess I underestimated you.”

He stood beside Steven, setting a hand on his shoulder. Beside him, Steven’s confidence seemed to drain; he looked vulnerable as he looked at the Doctor, his hands twitching by his sides.

“You’ve done well, Steven,” the Doctor said, and Steven visibly relaxed, his smile returning. “I knew you were capable of more. Good work.”

“Th-thank you —”

“Ah, I wasn’t done.” The Doctor tilted his head to one side. “You succeeded in bringing back my test subjects, and I am proud of you for that. You did a good job, kiddo. However… you’re still one of __them.”__

“Wh… what?”

“I have what I need, now. I no longer require your help.”

“B-but —”

The gunshot echoed around the room and Virgil’s ears screamed in protest. Patton screamed. Steven slumped to the floor, and Virgil’s shadows dissipated around them, power flowing into Virgil’s body once more. He stumbled to his feet and them backwards, every part of him screaming at him to __run, run, run —__  but he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see beyond Steven’s dead body and the Doctor and he couldn’t think beyond the __one__  thing he knew to be the truth.

__They were going to die._ _


	14. The Final Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey...
> 
> Gosh, it's been a while. I am SO sorry for the wait for this chapter! I started on it the moment I posted the last one, but... my depression hit hard before I was able to finish it, and THEN I got a cold, and I felt awful for making you guys wait but I could barely focus on anything, let alone writing a chapter this serious. I shouldn't have made you all wait this long, and I sincerely apologize.
> 
> So, as a peace offering... who's up for some soul-crushing angst?
> 
> WARNINGS THAT INCLUDE SLIGHT SPOILERS: this chapter includes violence, blood, major character "death" (wink wonk), and sevERE angst. I'm really proud of how it all came out, but it is pretty intense and I suggest you don't read it if any of that stuff bothers you.
> 
> Once again, I'm so freaking sorry for the wait. I feel absolutely awful about it... I hope this chapter makes up for it! It's a bit longer than my usual chapters and I really poured everything I had into it to make up for the wait. Let's hope good ol' depression waits until AFTER I've written the next chapter to hit again!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a review if you did! Honestly, I feel as though this wait would have been a lot longer if I didn't have all your amazing reviews to look through when I feel insecure about my writing. You're all so nice about my stupid story... Thank you.
> 
> Oof, I'll stop rambling now. Enjoy!
> 
> (and plz don't kill me im sorry the angst was necessary plz im so sorry)

Roman surged forward the moment the shadows dissipated around him, deadly-hot flames sparking to life on his hands and murder sparking to life in his eyes. He lunged for the Doctor, a furious growl escaping from his throat — and the Doctor sidestepped his rash attack, letting out a soft chuckle at Roman’s blind fury.

Roman whirled around, his flames a halo of red-hot light around him, his eyes flashing with more fury than Virgil had ever seen before. His flames grew bigger, hotter; their smoke filled the room as he lunged again, crying out in rage. The Doctor barely dodged this attack, the flames just licking the side of his arm as he sidestepped, and Virgil watched as though trapped in slow-motion as he raised his arm, his gun glinting hideously in the light as he aimed it, not at Roman, but at…

__Patton._ _

He was moving before he could think; the gunshot rang out, deafeningly loud; a scream tore from Virgil’s throat as he jumped in front of Patton, throwing his arms wide, and his shadows responded without a moment’s hesitation. The bullet collided with the wall of darkness and clattered to the floor.

“You’re __not__  touching him again,” he snarled, his voice shaking with unbridled rage. He shared a moment’s look with Roman — __he can’t dodge us both,__  their silent conversation said in a twinkling of narrowed eyes — and the Virgil did something he thought he’d lost the will to do a long time ago.

__Virgil fought back._ _

He thrust his hand forward, eager to wipe that sick smile off the Doctor’s face, and his shadows heeded the silent command and charged. He was almost too fast, even for the Doctor — and when the Doctor __did__  manage to stumble to the side, his smile falling from his face, Roman was right there to finish what Virgil started. He swung, his flames a blur of red-orange, and the Doctor fell back against the wall with a startled cry of pain.

Virgil stepped forward, sick satisfaction lodging in his chest as he caught a glimpse of the blood on the Doctor’s face. He held out one hand and his shadows snaked around the Doctor, shrouding him in darkness as they lifted him into the air. Virgil’s chest burned with fury as he regarded the man who’d ruined his life, his eyes sparking with anger.

A rueful grin flickered over Roman’s face. “Nice job, Virge,” he said, his face illuminated sharply by the red-orange glow of his flames. “Now, let’s give this __monster__  what he deserves.”

“With __pleasure,”__  Virgil spat, clenching his fist and reveling in the pain that crossed the Doctor’s face as the shadows squeezed tighter. But there wasn’t a trace of fear hidden among that pain; in fact, the Doctor regarded Virgil with something near amusement, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face.

“You’ve grown so powerful, Virgil.” His tone was ice, bitter cold, and Virgil’s chest began to buzz with uncertainty. “But you won’t kill me.”

Virgil grit his teeth and clenched his fist tighter, and the Doctor winced as the shadows curled even tighter. “I will to protect my family,” he said, his voice a furious whisper.

“Your family?” The Doctor chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, you really care about these monsters, huh? Don’t you see they’re using you?”

Distantly, he heard Roman protesting, and he felt a dull pressure and realized that Patton had set a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the Doctor’s words seemed to drill deep into his brain, driving every insecurity out of hiding.

“That’s a __lie,”__  he growled, and the Doctor shrugged. His teeth were clenched in pain, his skin pale and clammy, but still he stayed nonchalant, as though victory were in __his__  grasp rather than in Virgil’s.

“Do you really think anyone would __actually__  love you? Please. You’ve hurt so many people. It’s your fault Logan ran off in the first place!” He grinned. __“You’re nothing but a monster.”__

Virgil felt sick. His chest ached as though he’d been stabbed. He hesitated, his shadows growing slack as his mind replayed a silent, mocking mantra, driving the awful thoughts like spikes into his brain.

__Your fault your fault your fault your fault —_ _

“I love him!” Suddenly there was a warm hand in his, chubby fingers wrapping reassuringly around his hand and squeezing tightly.

“So do I!” Roman’s voice was wrought with anger, defiance, as he set a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and offered him a smile as bright as his flames. “He may be a creepy cookie sometimes, but he’s still a part of our family! And if Logan were awake, he’d say the same! Or, well, perhaps he wouldn’t, he’s not exactly one to throw around emotions like that, but —”

“Not the time, Roman,” Patton said gently.

“Ah. Yes. Sorry.”

Tears welled in Virgil’s eyes and he quickly blinked them away, closing his fist and allowing his shadows to grow tight once more. He squeezed Patton’s hand back as he glared up at the Doctor, forcing the mantra back into the darkness it had come from and focusing instead on the sting of victory, of __love,__  in his chest.

“Oh, what, so the __power of friendship__  is going to save the day?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Sorry, kiddos, but this isn’t an anime. You can’t always get what you want.”

He glanced down at Steven’s body, lying askew against the wall, and tilted his head to one side proudly. “You know, Virgil, even with all those years of testing I never was able to unlock the secret of your shadows. But Steven’s powers… let’s just say, they were a little easier. And with the final puzzle piece…” He glanced at Logan, and his smile became terrifyingly cruel.

Finally, he brought his attention back to Virgil, and his eyes seemed to bore straight into his brain, digging a hole through his mind. “You won’t kill me, Virgil,” he repeated. “You’re going to kill __them.”__

****Kill them kill them kill them kill them —** **

Virgil froze. His arm went limp. The shadows around the Doctor disappeared as Virgil clutched at his head, the awful mantra racing through his mind, screaming louder and louder and louder in a voice that was Logan’s but __wasn’t__  Logan’s. __“No!”__  he screamed, as it got louder and __louder and louder until —__

He thrust his arms out, spreading them wide, and two massive shadows charged forth and knocked Patton and Roman off their feet. His body was on fire, his mind absolute agony; he fought desperately against the hold on his brain as his body spiraled out of his control, but his feeble attempts were drowned out by the Doctor’s deafening orders.

His body stepped forward, a wall of shadows springing forward to pin Roman to the wall. Roman dodged, his flames sparking back to life, a cry of indignation tearing from his lips.

“Virgil! Stop it!” he yelled, hastily dodging the next attack. “Snap out of it!”

Virgil tried to yell back, tried to stop his body from moving — but his lips were locked and his body wasn’t his own anymore. The Doctor’s orders filled every muscle, every inch of his body. His hand shot forward and the shadows moved too quickly for Roman to dodge; he flew backwards with a cry of pain and slammed into the wall, his flames sputtering and dying as he slumped to the floor and remained, unmoving.

His body whirled around and he came face-to-face with Patton. Horror shot throughout his body but couldn’t compete with the Doctor’s power; his shadows raced forward and pinned Patton to the wall, growing tighter and tighter with every moment. Patton cried out in pain,

“Virgil, please! This isn’t you!” His eyes were filled with tears, his face pale from pain. He struggled against the shadows just as Virgil struggled against the Doctor’s orders, his face screwed up in agony.

“But it __is__  him!” The Doctor grinned, setting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as he watched Patton struggle. “I told you, Patton, he’s a monster. You’re __all__  monsters. Finish it, Virgil.”

“Virgil —” He cried out in pain as the shadows squeezed tighter, tears running down his face. They were squeezing the life out of him; a few more moments, a bit tighter, and Patton would be __dead.__

And then — Patton stopped struggling. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes fearful and swimming with pain, but he managed a smile as he looked down at Virgil. “I love you,” he said, his smile bright and kind.

****Finish it kill him finish it kill him finish it kill him** ** **_**_finish it kill him —_ ** _ **

“No!”

His cry rang out throughout the room and throughout his head as he fell to his knees; power surged through his body and he forced his arm down, forced the shadows to recede, and Patton fell to the floor, coughing and holding his chest. The Doctor stumbled backwards, his face pale with shock.

__“How?”__  he yelled. Virgil got to his feet, his body thrumming with fury, his shadows swirling murderously around his feet, and he advanced towards the Doctor. The Doctor lifted his gun, his eyes wide and incredulous as he backpedaled.

The shadows shot forward the moment Virgil lifted his hand, and a gunshot rang out throughout the room. The Doctor went tumbling backwards, a pained cry tearing from his lips as he slammed against the wall and slumped down against the desk, sending his tools scattering to the floor.

And the bullet tore through Virgil’s stomach.

 

* * *

 

Patton rushed forward with a terrified cry, catching Virgil just as his legs gave out, just before he hit the floor. His shirt was torn, the deep purple stained with scarlet blood, and his face was pale, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Panic weaved its way into Patton’s lungs as he gently laid Virgil down on the cold floor, the room growing silent save for Virgil’s shallow breathing and Patton’s wracking sobs. He set his hands on the wound and felt warmth flow through his fingertips, watching as the bleeding began to slow.

But suddenly another pair of hands was on his, gently pushing them away. “N-No,” Virgil said, his voice weak and broken. “I don’t —”

__“No!”__  He shoved his hands back on the wound and desperately willed his powers to work faster. __“Don’t try to stop me!”__  His voice broke, hot tears sliding down his face. Virgil pushed his hands away again, his face dark, his eyes filled with self-loathing. It was an all-too-familiar expression,

“I… I hurt you.” Virgil reached up, his fingers brushing against the redness on Patton’s arms, the beginnings of an awful bruise. “I hurt y-you, and… I hurt Roman…” He glanced at Roman, who still hadn’t stirred, his body bent awkwardly against the wall and a trickle of blood falling from his nose. He winced as he shifted, turning his gaze to Logan, limp against the table. “It’s all my fault — it’s my fault we’re here a-a-and it’s m-my fault Logan got k-kidnapped and —”

__“Stop!”__  Patton snapped, his chest wracking with painful sobs. “Please! This isn’t your fault! It’s __his!__  I — __I need to heal you! I can’t lose you!”__

“Pat, I…” Virgil trailed off, looking down at the wound in his stomach, his voice horribly weak. Still, his grip remained strong as he kept Patton from touching the wound, shining tears beginning to fill his dark eyes; and in that moment Patton had never wished more than his powers were stronger, that he could heal a wound this severe __without__  touching it, that he could ignore Virgil’s wishes and save him from this nightmare.

__But he couldn’t._ _

He couldn’t see through his tears, couldn’t breathe through his sobs, __couldn’t heal Virgil even though he needed him to —__

“H-Hey, it’s —” Virgil stopped, wincing, and let out a slow hiss of air from between his clenched teeth. His grip on Patton’s hand was fading. __He__  was fading. “It’s okay, Pat,” he said finally, and his voice drove a knife through Patton’s heart and shattered it into pieces. “I… I didn’t deserve any of this. I didn’t deserve __you.__  I’m… I’m not good. You know that!”

“Stop! __Stop!”__  Patton was fading, too; Virgil was his heart, his __everything__ , and who was he without his heart? He shoved with renewed force and Virgil shoved back, desperate to keep Patton’s hands away from the wound. __“I’ll fight you!”__

“H-Hasn’t there been enough fighting?” Virgil chuckled, his voice faint. “S-Save your energy for R-Roman, I —” He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath as he shifted where he laid. He reached up, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and the trail of deep scarlet he left behind contrasted sharply with his ashen skin. He bit his lip and smiled softly, the light in his eyes growing dim. “I love you.”

In one quick movement, for one moment, Virgil’s lips were on his, and warmth raced through Patton’s lips — and in the next moment, his body went limp against Patton’s. Distantly, he heard the sound of something clattering against the floor and realized with a horrible pang that the wound had closed, that the bullet had fallen out, that his powers had worked through their final kiss and Virgil still hadn’t woken.

__That he was too late._ _

__“No —”__  He sobbed, hard, each breath a burning fire in his lungs. He hugged Virgil to his chest and cried, his chest aching as he trembled with painful sobs. __“No, no, no no no…”__  The world had shattered into nothingness around him; all that mattered was Virgil, __Virgil’s gone, he’s gone and you didn’t save him and it’s all your fault.__

He doubled over, his fingers knotting into the fabric of Virgil’s shirt, a heartbroken wail escaping his throat as he pressed his forehead against Virgil’s. Memories flashed through his mind — Virgil laughing after a particularly good joke, Virgil curled up against his chest after a bad nightmare, Virgil smiling at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, __Virgil, Virgil, Virgil —__  and he sobbed even harder, his chest heaving, tears slipping from his cheeks and washing away the blood on Virgil’s face.

“Urgh…”

The distant groan was a knife cleaving his heart right in half, a painful fire springing to life in his bones. It was a sign of life from someone who deserved none. It was proof, horrible proof, that life simply __wasn’t__  fair — because while Virgil had bled out and died in Patton’s arms, because while Virgil’s life had been stolen right out from under him…

__The Doctor lived._ _

Through his tears, Patton saw the blurry figure stand and stretch, letting out a long, annoyed sigh. He readjusted his glasses and regarded the scene before him, tilting his head to one side as a surprised, victorious smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Patton saw the Doctor __live,__  while Virgil __didn’t.__

He let out a choked sob, furious warmth flooding his chest as he gently lowered Virgil’s body to the floor. He rubbed at his eyes as he stumbled to his feet, the warmth growing and growing and growing, spreading down his arms and into the palms of his hands. Logan was unconscious, Roman injured — and Virgil was __dead.__

Something inside him snapped.

He felt power race through his body, crackling within him like a storm about to begin; his palms became searingly hot as they drained the light from the world around him, shimmering with bright aureate light. This wasn’t the warmth he was used to, the healing comfort of chocolate chip cookies and warm summer’s nights — but rather the livid glow of a lightning strike, the scorching heat of an uncontrollable blaze, the blinding light of __fury.__

“You __killed__  him.” The lights above him began flickering and the Doctor raised an eyebrow uncertainly. He took slow trembling steps forward, his fingers tingling with new-found power. His stomach tugged painfully and the room was plunged into darkness, save for the golden light cast by the wispy, glowing smoke-trails forming around him. He let out another sob, and it echoed painfully around the dark room. “Y-Y-You __killed him!”__

“He had it coming.” The Doctor reached for his gun; his hand froze when he realized that it had fallen across the room when Virgil had dealt his final blow, and he clenched his jaw and straightened up, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Stop it, Patton. ****You won’t kill me.”****

The voice echoed in Patton’s head for only a moment before the light drove it away, and Patton let out a raw growl, his eyes glowing bright gold. He held his hands close to his chest and focused, and a ball of light as bright as an explosion appeared between his fingers, warping the air around it with its heat.

__“Yes I will,”__  he promised, his voice a raw whisper, and flung his hands forward.

The Doctor scrambled to the side with a wild yelp and the ball of light exploded the moment it hit the wall, sending chunks of drywall scattering across the room. Barely a moment had passed before Patton had formed another, his chest heaving with sobs as he attacked, again and again and again. __Virgil’s gone!__  his mind screamed as the Doctor stumbled away, clutching the gash a chunk of wall had opened on his cheek. __Virgil’s gone, Virgil’s gone, Virgil’s gone!__

****“Stop it!”****  The Doctor cried, and Patton shoved his way through the lead that filled his limbs at the command, his attacks growing frenzied and desperate. __Virgil’s gone Virgil’s gone Virgil’s gone Virgil’s gone —__  his mind refused to stop taunting him and he attacked even faster, the tugging in his stomach growing painful, horrible. The Doctor cried out as a ball of light grazed his arm, crashing into his table with an agonized yell and falling into the pile of torture devices left scattered across the floor.

“You took him away from me!” Another attack, more insistent; the Doctor tumbled to the right and shielded his face as bits of table flew past. “You took __everything__  away from me!” A shield of light kept debris from scattering across Roman as the wall behind the Doctor bust into pieces and sent him flying backwards. “You — __You —”__

__It was too much.__  He let out a final choked sob and fell to his knees, his sobbing giving way to an agonized wail as he shattered into pieces. His lights disappeared and the room plunged into darkness and he buried his face in his hands, heaving with violent sobs.

“You’re an idiot.” His arm was bloodied, his skin a myriad of cuts and burns, but still the Doctor approached, venom in his voice. He grabbed a fistful of Patton’s hair and raised his head; Patton could only just make out the sharp, horrible features of his face through the swirling darkness of the room. He gasped softly as something sharp and cold was pressed against his throat. “You’ll be with your __monster__  boyfriend soon, Patton. Don’t worry.”

__I’m sorry, Roman,__  he thought, when his voice refused to allow him the comfort of final words. __I’m sorry, Logan.__  He let out a breath, his __final__  breath, and smiled through the darkness within. __I’m coming with you, Virgil. Wait for me.__

“Are you ready?” Patton could barely hear the Doctor’s voice through the frantic beating of his own heart. The Doctor chuckled softly as he pressed the scalpel harder into Patton’s throat. “You’re going to die, Patton. Goodbye.”

__Bang!_ _

Patton gasped sharply at the sudden noise, clutching at his throat when the scalpel clattered to the floor, his eyes filling with tears once more. He heard the heavy sound of a body slumping to the floor, the gurgling noise of a dying breath; he searched through the darkness and caught sight of two figures leaning against each other, lit by lambent firelight, the barrel of the gun shining in the red-orange light.

__“Falsehood,”__  Logan spat, cold fury etched across the sharp features of his face.

Patton reeled, trembled. “L-Lo — __Lo —”__ He gasped, slumping to the floor as his vision faded and succumbed to the darkness once more.


	15. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... this is it. The final chapter of a project months in the making, the last piece of my favorite story I've ever written. I might be crying right now.
> 
> I want to thank all of you for sticking with me through everything, through all the delayed updates and the soul-crushing angst and the Bad Writing™. This story wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you guys, so... thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> Hopefully, this chapter does well to wrap up the loose ends and heal the hurt from the previous chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm gonna go sob. I cannot believe it's already over... :')))))))))))))))))
> 
> (ps if u can, go listen to this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbWZQ3zssw4) while reading this chapter, it fits really well w the first part and it will make you s o b)
> 
> uh anyway I love you all so much and just. thank you again for staying with my garbage story. It means a lot to me. <3

Darkness.

Virgil floated aimlessly in an endless void of nothingness, shadows stretching as far as the eye could see. The echo of a heartbeat, deafeningly loud, beat alongside the murmurs of quiet voices, and his eyebrows furrowed, a confusing feeling lodging in his chest. Slowly, he began to walk, his aimless footsteps clacking against the rhythm of the heartbeat.

Was this the afterlife? He wrapped his arms around himself, his stomach aching hollowly where the bullet had torn through, and he let out a small, humorless chuckle. He couldn’t have survived that. He hugged himself tighter; he could still feel the warmth of Patton’s lips against his, and that alone rivaled the pain of the bullet-hole in his stomach. A moment passed, and another warmth joined it: the warmth of tears sliding down his cheeks

__“Hiya, I’m Patton!”_ _

He whirled around at the sudden voice, a gasp flying from his lips as two figures appeared before him. They were small and faded, nearly translucent, their colors lost to the void around them. One stood hunched in on himself, his eyes wide with suspicion and fear and his skin marred with fresh bruises; and though the other’s face was sunken and pale from exhaustion, his skin marbled with the same ugly bruises, his gap-toothed smile was as bright as ever as he offered his hand to the smaller child.

More tears blurred Virgil’s vision and his hand flew to his mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Was this his life, flashing before his eyes? He watched as the smaller child finally took the taller one’s hand, and he took a few jerking steps forward as they faded back into the void, his other hand outstretched as tears spilled across his cheeks.

__“Hey, it’s okay…”_ _

They were older this time, and Virgil recognized the scene playing out before him with an agonizing twinge in his heart. His sunken cheeks shining with tears, his auburn-sunshine hair wild and messy, his grip around Virgil tight as he sobbed into his shoulder; it was the all-too-familiar aftermath of the nightmares that plagued them at Obscura Virtute. Virgil began to shake, his chest aching.

“I’m here.” Virgil spoke with his memory-self, his voice raw and pained. “I’ll protect you.”

The memory faded and Virgil fell to his knees, a sob tearing painfully from his throat. He scrubbed at the tears blurring his vision, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately trying to will the void away, to will __himself__  away. His chest burned with anguish as another memory appeared, the two boys sitting cross-legged across from each other.

__“Hmm… apples!”__ Past-Patton began, twirling a lock of his long hair around his finger absentmindedly.

__“Pie,”__  Past-Virgil continued without a moment’s hesitation, a smile growing on his face.

__“Baking!”_ _

__“Oven.”_ _

__“...Warmth.”_ _

__“Summer!”_ _

Their faces were weary, their eyes heavy with exhaustion and their bare arms lined with fresh cuts and bruises, but their smiles shone through the years of torture, genuine and happy. It felt like a knife, slicing straight through Virgil’s heart; he watched as their game continued and as they faded into the void around them, and tears fell from his cheeks and splattered against the darkness beneath him.

And then…

They sat side by side, wrapped in a Disney-patterned blanket to protect against the early-autumn chill, and though the void faded their colors and left them nearly transparent, VIrgil could still see the splattering of sunset-light across their faces, and the flicker of happiness in his own eyes. The memory was recent, barely a week before; he could still recall the feeling of Patton leaning into him, his gaze wistful and fond as they watched the sunset together. Patton’s voice floated through the void, his voice gentle and sleepy as it weaved a slow lullaby.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.

Past-Patton curled up closer to Past-Virgil, his eyes fluttering shut and his song coming to an end, the golden light of sunset fading into darkness. __“I love you,”__  he whispered as the memory began to fade, and his words echoed endlessly throughout the void, whirling around Virgil.

__I love you I love you I love you I love you —_ _

__Virgil couldn’t breathe._ _

He doubled over and buried his face in his hands, his agonized cry filling the void. __“Let me out!”__ he sobbed to the tune of a million __I love yous,__  as the pain in his stomach became too much to bear. __“I take it back! I can’t leave him! Let me go! Let me__ ** _ ** _go!”_**_**

And the void shattered around him.

He shot upwards, heaving with sobs as light flooded his vision. Through his tears, he recognized the purple-tinted sunlight filtering in from behind his closed curtains, and the feeling of a weighted blanket wrapped around his shaking form was too familiar to be anything else. He let out a choked sob.

__He was home._ _

“Virgil!” There was a hand on his shoulder, hesitant in the way it barely brushed his skin. Virgil scrubbed at the tears in his eyes and tried to make out the blurry form before him, clothed in blue and black. “You were having a nightmare, Virgil, please calm down. Y-You’re safe now.”

__God, please don’t let this be another dream,__  he pleaded silently as he took in short, shuddering breaths, swiping desperately at his eyes. His body shook with wracking sobs and the hand on his shoulder began gently rubbing, awkwardly trying to calm him.

“I apologize for not waking you, I-I must have fallen asleep.” Logan’s voice was awkward but earnest, and a hint of guilt ran beneath the tremor of his words. “Please, try to breathe, it was only a nightmare.”

Virgil forced himself to breathe and __only__  to breathe — __4-7-8,__ he thought over and over, forcing the numbers through the deafening cacophony of __I love yous__  echoing through his head — and slowly, the tears ceased to fall.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, once his wracking sobs had calmed into gentle trembles.

“I __died__ ,” Virgil choked out, his hands roaming to his stomach, finding only bandages where there should have been a bullet-hole. “I — I died, why — how am I __here?”__

“Technically, you merely fell unconscious. Patton healed you,” Logan said as he sat on the side of the bed, adjusting his glasses nervously. “His powers managed to work through your final, ah… kiss… and barring any further disasters, you should make a full recovery.”

“And Patton?” he stuttered, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as though afraid the answer would make him fall apart. “I-Is he okay? What about Roman? Did he make it out? W-Where are they?”

“Aside from Steven and… the Doctor… everyone made it out alright,” Logan said, quickly interrupting Virgil’s stream of questions. “Patton is a bit shaken up, but otherwise okay, and Roman is perfectly fine — though his complaining might have you believe otherwise.”

“The — the Doctor is — he’s __dead?”__  Virgil asked, hope daring to grow in his chest. Logan nodded and Virgil let out all his breath in one big __whoosh__. “Wait, w-what about you? A-Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes, I am… fine.” He readjusted his glasses once more, a telltale sign that there was more on his mind. He took a deep breath, refusing to meet Virgil’s gaze. “However, I very nearly __wasn’t__  fine. I — what I mean is — we __all__  nearly… you could have —”

It wasn’t often that something struck Logan speechless, but now he stumbled and stuttered over is words as though they refused to leave him, hands fluttering up and down nervously to fix his glasses and his hair again and again. His voice practically dripped with guilt. He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly.

“I… I apologize, Virgil. It is my fault that you and everyone else had to put their lives in danger. It is my fault that you came so close to death.” He took in a deep, shaky breath, and cut Virgil off before he could protest. “It was my shortsighted, __stupid__  anger that put me in danger in the first place, and therefore it was my shortsighted anger that forced you to confront __him.”__

“Logan —”

“He is the reason for all of your pain, Virgil! He’s the reason for all of __my__  pain. I… I simply couldn’t… I thought I could __stop__  him, and… I…” He let out a frustrated groan, silently cursing the words that wouldn’t come. A memory fluttered into Virgil’s thoughts and Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh, you… I see. Roman told you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Virgil said softly. Guilt blossomed in the pit of his stomach and he averted his gaze. “You were his __f-first.__  I — I’m so __sorry,__  Lo.”

Logan let out a small sigh, his arms tightly crossed. His eyes were dark, and they held deep sadness, irreparable regret, hidden in the stormy grays and greens. “He found me when I was eight,” he began. “Back then, he lacked the… __subtlety__  he possessed later on. When I saw his true intentions and refused to go with him, he kidnapped me, and, for good measure…”

He wiped at his eyes, his nose wrinkling up in frustration at the tears gathering there. “He burned down my home. My family, they… they all…” He stopped and let out a shaky breath. “He made it look like an __accident,”__  he croaked, his voice trembling.

__“That’s__  why I left to face him. I-I mean, Steven did influence me __somewhat__ , but in the end it was my decision, and… it was foolish. And naive. I put everyone in danger, and it might have worked out in the end but that doesn’t chance the fact that __I’m__  the reason it happened in the first place, and —”

__“Stop,”__  Virgil said, and Logan was surprised to see tears in __his__  eyes, too. Virgil’s hands shook, his stomach aching with sympathy and guilt and sadness. “Y-Yeah, what you did wasn’t __good,__  but… s-stop putting all the blame on yourself. I was __stupid__  and it’s my fault that you got so angry a-and honestly I-I would have done the same thing if our roles were reversed. A-And __Steven__  was a deceitful __a-asshole__  and it’s __his__  fault that you convinced yourself that you could beat the Doctor, and —”

“Virgil, no —”

“And it’s __his__  fault,” Virgil hissed, ignoring Logan’s protests and pressing on. “It’s __his__  fault for doing this to us. It’s __his__  fault for making you have to fight in the first place. So yeah, what you did wasn’t good, and you scared the living __shit__  out of me and if you ever do anything like that again I will __fight__  you, but… it’s over now. He’s __gone__ , and… we’re gonna be okay. So… stop blaming yourself.”

The speech was just as much for himself as it was for Logan. He let out another long breath, trembling with disbelief — __it’s over, it’s over,__  his heart chanted with glee, even as his mind refused to believe it — and wiped at the tears pooling in his eyes.

“I…” Logan stared, his eyes shining with unshed tears. __“Ugh,”__  he groaned, chuckling tiredly as he lowered his gaze and rubbed at his eyes, the same disbelief written all over his face. “Feelings. The bane of my existence.”

Virgil found himself giggling, too, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Exhaustion seemed to sink through every bone in his body and his stomach still ached where he’d been shot, but… it was over. It was __over__.

And they were going to be okay.

 

 

“Rejoice, nerds, for your prince has returned!”

The yell from downstairs came nearly an hour later and startled Logan and Virgil out of their conversation, right in the middle of Logan’s explanation of how Patton’s powers had mutated. Virgil felt himself smiling despite himself as he heard his family coming in downstairs, and Logan rolled his eyes at Roman’s __extra__  entrance, a loving smile gracing his lips.

Logan stood. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his hand. Virgil took it and grit his teeth as he got to his feet, his sore body aching in protest. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and stretched his aching limbs, and then the two set off, down the hall and down the stairs.

Logan sighed and opened his arms, fondly resigned, as they reached the bottom step, and a blur of red and white and gold flew into them. “Hello, Roman,” he said, and Roman stood on his tiptoes and smashed his lips into Logan’s in response. Virgil smirked and turned around, offering Logan a thumbs-up over his shoulder.

“He has done this every single time he’s seen me since I woke up,” Logan said once they’d finished, his face as red as the jam he loved so much.

Roman put a hand to his chest and gasped, offended. “You’re saying that like you don’t like it!”

Logan rolled his eyes and kissed him again.

“Hey Virgil, hey Logince,” Joan greeted with a nonchalant wave as they walked in the front door, casually levitating a parade of grocery bags in front of them. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Logince?”

“Logan-Princey,” Talyn explained as they followed Joan inside. “They’ve been spending so much time together lately that we just started referring to them as one person.”

“That doesn’t even make sense —”

“Hush, Logince.” Talyn cut Logan off, offering Virgil a cheeky grin before they followed Joan into the kitchen.

And then they walked in, side-by-side, sharing the load of the last few grocery bags; Thomas wore a bright smile as he talked, and Patton — __Patton, real Patton, he’s alive he’s okay he’s__ ** _ ** _alive_**_**  — shone so brightly that the sun dimmed in shame, his eyes crinkled up as he laughed at whatever Thomas had just said.

Thomas caught Virgil’s eye and gave him an Impending-Mom-Friend-Lecture glare, and then…

And then Patton noticed him, and time seemed to stop. Their eyes met and held a thousand conversations in the span of a second, and the groceries fell from Patton’s arms and smashed against the floor.

__“Virgil,”__  Patton breathed, and suddenly he was running, flying into Virgil’s arms so quickly that they nearly toppled over. “Virgil. Virgil, __Virgil,__  you’re __okay__ , oh my gosh, you’re __alive —”__  He wrapped his arms tightly around Virgil and his embrace seemed to fix what the battle had broken, seemed to make everything __okay__  again. Virgil buried his face in Patton’s auburn hair and desperately breathed the scent of soap and sunshine, a stop escaping as tears began to fall.

“I-I’m okay,” he agreed, as Patton lifted his head to gaze into Virgil’s eyes. __“We’re__  okay.”

“We’re okay!” Patton repeated, grinning tearfully.

“I… I’m sorry for making you worry,” Virgil said softly, biting his lip. “I’m sorry for everything.”

In response, Patton kissed him.

Warmth raced throughout his body, tingling and loving and __alive__ , and __god,__  there was nothing quite like the feeling of having the sun’s lips on his, the sun’s hands running through his hair, the sun clutching him as though afraid he’d disappear again. Virgil felt the last of his pain disappear as tears splashed across his face, and he held Patton even closer.

This story ends with freedom, with __love__ ; with two boys free to be themselves and a man freed of the pain of his past and a family freed of their fear. They’re not okay, not yet — the Doctor’s abuse won’t be easy to recover from (and judging by the intensity of the mom-friend glare Thomas gave Virgil as he left the room, the lecture they were in for wouldn’t be easy to recover from, either) — but they will be. __Together,__  they will be.

This story ends…

And Virgil __begins.__


End file.
